Have mercy, Jalal—my sorrows thou hast doubled,Have mercy—for my days with grief are troubled.
In heart and soul, embodied pains reside,And in my breast my suffering heart has cried.
No tears extinguish sorrow's fire within,Nor do my weeping eyes find solace's win.
And all that I can do today is pray:O Lord, preserve my faith upon my way.
When water murmurs from my grief I hear,I think a caller weeps for sorrows dear.
Birds sing rejoicing in the garden's shade,While I am sleepless—heavy lids have weighed.
Joy has departed; my lyre still repeatsWhat I have suffered—time's cruel torment beats.
Praise God who fashioned me and made me fitTo bear a burden past my strength and wit.
I sing my verses to a human raceBorn of the dust—my spirit's sacred place.
O people, this my poetry I raise,Nor care for praise or censure's bitter gaze.
I wove my verse to lull myself to restWhen grief and sorrow left my soul oppressed.
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