1. I wrote while my night was awake and daytime slept,
And my chest for the lodgers of worries was a dwelling.

2. And for me are plentiful tears that pour as though they were
Clouds that overflowed from your hands pouring.

3. And I did not see any water like tears when they flow,
Flames from them in the tear ducts blaze.

4. I traveled and my provision was agony and my riding beast
Wings from the heat of parting were scorched.

5. A journey people called travel and breadth,
Yet the meaning of its name if examined is confinement.

6. Whenever I attempt to forget the grief, it reminds me
Of abodes that within my ribs have abodes.

7. Goodness is yours without my choice in leaving,
And do I have over the turning of time a choice?

8. And this is my writing while my eyelids are as though
Their rims arbitrate upon their edges.