إِلى اللَهِ أَشكو الشَوقَ لا إِن لَقيتُهَ

يَقِلُّ وَلا إِن بِنتُ يُخلِقُهُ الدَهرُ

I complain to God of longing, yet meeting does not decrease it

Nor does the passage of time breed it.

مُقيمٌ عَلى الأَحشاءِ قَد قُطِّعَت بِهِ

فَساعَتُهُ يَومٌ وَلَيلَتُهُ شَهرُ

It dwells in my very flesh, which is broken by its pangs.

Its hours are a day, its moments a month.