مولاي ما متعب يلوح على الس

مت والحيّ صنعة الفائق

My Master, no weary pilgrim who treks upon the plain

He died, and the One Who is living crafted the Supreme.

كأنه عاشق تهيج له الأوت

ار شجواً وليس بالعاشق

As if he were a lover stirred by passions for him the lutes

Complained longingly, yet he is no lover.

لسانه صامت على أكثر الأوق

ات لكن قلبه ناطق

His tongue is silent much of the time but his heart speaks out.