كَلّ لِساني عَن وَصف ما أَجد

وَذُقتُ ثُكلا ما ذاقَه أَحَد

My tongue fails to describe what I feel

And I've tasted a grief no other has known

ما عالَجَ الحزنَ وَالحَرارَةَ في ال

أَحشاءِ من لَم يَمت له وَلَد

None can heal the sorrow and burning inside

Save he who has lost a child of his own

فجّعتُ باِبنِيَ لَيسَ بَينَهُما

إِلّا لَيالٍ ما بَينَها عَدَد

I've lost two sons, and between their passings

Were but nights, whose count could be known

وَكُلّ حُزن يبلى عَلى قِدم الد

دَهرِ وَحُزني يُجِدّه الكَمَد

While all grief fades with time and tide

Mine is ever renewed, freshly sown