1. Be brief, for my brevity cannot match yours,
You were patient with one who lacks patience,

2. I have no escape from burdens,
Since sorrows have been my burdens,

3. No use shedding tears if I forgave,
My eyes with other than flowing tears,

4. Events have cast me with their plots,
Between fangs and claws,

5. And clothed my body in robes of grief,
For the body without grief is bare,

6. Your loss has hurt me Laila, and in,
Hurting me is every kind of hurt,

7. O day of loss, I’ve never tasted its like,
It has made my life intensely bitter,

8. Is there no supporter on your day,
Or have my supporters been absent from your day,

9. I will bury my eyes in your grave,
In a place of spirits and rain,

10. I yearn for your vision, I come but
I see naught but dust and stones,

11. And I dwell in the desert in mourning,
Its dwellers thousands of dwellers,

12. A companion of crevices as if I am,
A companion of rivers and trees,

13. I have no land, my home, rather
At the gate of two crenels my orbit,

14. A gate in which traces are erased,
And they faded from my traces,

15. O gate of two crenels, be not devoid,
Of clouds' help, and virgins,

16. With balance that inspires me, and cradle,
That cries with blood tears that flow,

17. O my mercy, and sorrow takes,
The reins of my income and expenses,

18. From which horizons did it throw my brain,
Hitting the target, from which of my regions,

19. The fire created from my heart,
Or is it created from the fire,

20. As if the expanse of earth between us,
Is five cubits between us,

21. O light of my eye, who has never
Ceased to kindle my lights from her light,

22. O lady of the bright grave which,
Illuminates like the shining planet,

23. Rise to your pilgrimage or sit,
For they are the most generous of visitors,

24. Rise to your house, for your patience,
With it has denied all denial,

25. Your house has been lonesome of its people,
And the people lonesome of the house,

26. My one, I became in a loneliness,
After familiarity and settlement,

27. Why are your neighbors, people of homelands,
Has the tenderness of a neighbor left them,

28. I was the delight of the eye when you,
Were, sweetening my talks and news,

29. And my poetry was sung,
My poems were deemed best for lamentation,