Sol 5.6

  1. The nights of separation taught me how to sob;

    And passion’s anguish fanned my longing’s fire to flame.

  2. I call to you, O Uthman, my heart worn thin—

    Never did I expect of you that you would not reply.

  3. Indeed, the onslaughts of the nights have struck you,

    And far be it from their shot to miss its mark.

  4. The physician came—and oh, if only I knew:

    Can a physician save one once he has been stricken?

  5. He visited you and sensed despair; when

    We saw him walking toward us, he was downcast.

  6. We spent the night, the calamity denying our eyes sleep,

    While sorrow crept stealthily through the hearts.

  7. They knelt beside you; and when we despaired,

    We stationed a watcher over every limb.

  8. Sickness wore you down, and you became exhausted,

    Though only yesterday you were a fresh, supple bough.

  9. Then you slept and yielded up to God a soul

    Pure, which had turned in repentance to its Lord.

  10. And you became hidden from the eyes

    That shed copious tears at losing you.

  11. O departed one, whom hearts escorted,

    And nearly melted beneath the blow of losing you.

  12. Indeed, you were among us devout and faithful,

    A man of mettle, noble and cultivated.

  13. I stand by our bond as long as I live, and I

    See no sweetness for me in life after you.

  14. Though you have vanished from my sight,

    You will never be absent from my thoughts.

  15. The nights disclose to us affairs

    Whose meaning bewilders even the wise;

  16. Silent vicissitudes pass us by,

    Their admonitions bereft of a preacher.

Sol 5.6