O my poor heart, don’t flow out from
My eyes like blood, beware,
You will never be picked up again
From the ground, like useless tear.
If kabaa has been broken down,
don’t feel sad, that’s not a lover’s heart,
Which can never be mend again,
If once broken apart.
In this world, we cannot achieve
That what our heart desire,
My wounds will never heal, not sewed
Like roses they’re on fire.
O my poor heart don’t turn your face,
If she has a sword for slaughter,
For if you cannot bear the pain,
How will you face the lovers?
O Saint put off your turban when
You’re saying your prayers,
Or else you won’t be able to
Pickup your head from prostrate
O dear beloved don’t be cruel,
And don’t think of this slay,
For if you killed Sauda, with this
You will not get away.