One of the Arab kings was ill in his old age and had lost hope of living. A rider came in and brought the news that a certain fortress had been conquered by the grace of the king, the enemies were captured, and the army and people of that region had all become obedient to his command. The king sighed deeply and said, “This news is not for me but for my enemies, meaning the heirs to the kingdom.”
With this hope, my precious life passed away, That what is in my heart will come to fruition. The hope was fulfilled, but what use is it, When there is no hope that the past life will return?
The drum of departure was struck by the hand of fate, O my eyes, bid farewell to the head. O palms, forearms, and arms, All bid farewell to one another.
To me, who has fallen and is at the mercy of enemies, Finally, O friends, pass by. My days have passed in ignorance, I did not take heed, you take heed.
