1. O He who mends stumbles, enough, do not increase
For the daughters of your breast gather in the folds

2. Complaints multiplied while you listen bowing
You fold your complaints to find what will come back

3. You can no longer endure remaining consoling
And the soul in you shudders from tribulations

4. You suck in pains, frightening is their horror
And dreams are flooded with insistent bleeding

5. Indeed troubles have multiplied their progeny
And they are burning as embers in your soul’s lap

6. And if darkness enfolds you in its bosom
No fate is missed that fate ordained you miss

7. How much did happiness flee frightened from you
Like a gazelle from the hunter fleeing far

8. Since the cups of your night made you swallow bitterness
And the swords of dire fates did not sheathe

9. Who, I wonder, would listen if your teardrop fell?
Who would give you refuge from a cold that expels?