1. The lover's eyes are burdened with his torment,
Do not blame him, lest you incur his reproach.

2. A liver worn by passion until it became
Its sighs have translated what ails it.

3. Misfortunes from his fate have befallen him,
The most intense being the scarcity of his loved ones.

4. So the caller of love in his body
Is like a sword that cuts him with its edge.

5. His patience was depleted by what he endured
And his passion in the prime of his youth.

6. His tears did not flow down his cheeks
Except due to the sickness that crept beneath his clothes.

7. And exertions in which he spent his zeal,
Pleased with the adornment that eased his difficulties.

8. It earned for the heart an ailment of burning,
Lying down, so it changed in its wraps.

9. It sought for hopes a path of righteousness,
So it went competing vigorously for its requests.

10. I will not blame fate for limiting its gifts,
Neither will I gauge and measure its clouds.

11. I made my patience a refuge, though the
Turning of time triumphed with its might against me.