1. I aimed it at this band
And brought it nothing but mirage

2. And loaded it with nothing but misery
With which it takes me to task on Judgment Day

3. I picked you, my soul, before you picked me
My father picked you, so cease your blame

4. If they had not suppressed my eloquence
I would have reached my goal and healed my ailment

5. How much I strove, and how much a literatus strove before me
Only to return in disappointment after estrangement

6. I made no excuses until my sandals
Were blood, my pillow the dirt's face

7. Until the sun made me a slave
Dyeing me after tanning my brows

8. Until the file wore away my nails
Until fate smashed my incisors

9. When will I attain the land of Egypt
And smell the scent of its dust?

10. I saw the son of Bukhara on her back
Passing as though the prime of youth

11. As if his insides were a fiery youth's
Whose ardour the return ignites

12. If the darkness asks, does the earth
Or the clouds flash lightning?