1. The nights have cast their worn-out robes upon you,
And placed between wandering and questioning.

2. Your dark days, their weaver went astray,
And the neck of your lifetime was slaughtered like my hopes.

3. And over you is revived debris wrapped in a shroud,
And a pearl that was lost in the mud of graves.

4. And over you, and alas from you, revived what was weakened
By the fire of your trials, my ribs and limbs.

5. I am the one whose joy the world was too narrow for,
Yet not too narrow for my wounds and tribulations.

6. O son of the road left except for injustice,
And a storm not knowing the mercy of the breeze.

7. And a grieving poet whose melodies
Were the cure for heartsickness, so they became the illness.

8. He saw you and a flutter shook his ribs,
And his lips recited the surah of pain.

9. The flute quivered in his hands, trembling,
And did not show weeping what bitterness it contains.

10. The night is your night, O son of the night, O most wondrous,
Apportioner, and for my poetry the tearful words.

11. My brother, we both descended from Adam,
And our destinies are sorrows and adversities.

12. You sell the people their share of money, perturbed,
While the orphan's teardrop in your eye is perturbed.

13. O you wasteland, the breeze blew above his comfort,
A basil plant whose nobility and lineage it scattered.

14. O you cup, people quench their thirst,
While its interior aches, inflamed.

15. So if you turn away, no mother tends to you,
Nor a father poured affection on you.

16. My brother, I call you, so have mercy on a poet who called out
When he found none but his own weeping as provision.

17. These palaces that their dwellers went astray in
Returned to their forlorn silence and did not return.

18. Wealth was not enough for him to lavish on his family,
So he built with his money in the earth high columns.

19. His hopes made him forget the pains of his brothers,
So he wreaked in the earth havoc and corruption.

20. And he filled this base world with slaughtered limbs,
With destiny over them a whip and executioner.

21. My tears for you suffice, though they do not suffice me,
And tears seep into the livers of the destitute.

22. I weep for you, child of wishes, your edifice erected
On the pillar of pretentious flowers, deceived.

23. I weep for you without affection, except that my blood
Ravages within it the death throes of madness.

24. And you, O judge, whose judgments
Were storms upon the victims of water and clay.

25. Have mercy, for the victims, their star has vanished
And they were deprived of the sweet melodies.