وَكَم شامَت بي بَعد موتِيَ جاهِلاً

بِظُلمي يسلُّ السَيفَ بَعد وَفاتي

How many a fool will gloat over me when I am dead,

Wielding his sword in tyranny when I am gone.

وَلَو عَلم المِسكينُ ماذا يَنالُهُ

من الظُلمِ بَعدي ماتَ قَبل مَماتي

If the poor wretch but knew what will befall him,

From the injustice after me, he would die before my death.