The poet's power, my morning, is exhausted from excessive sorrow

Disgusted, he was leaving, fleeing from servitude

The image of Khwarazm and the fantasy of the Jeyhun's shore

With thousands of complaints, he was leaving the kingdom of Solomon

He was the one who knew no one else's soul of speech

I was seeing him, and my soul was leaving my body

When I was saying to him, O my old companion

He was speaking harshly, and with a sorrowful and tearful heart, he was leaving

I said, now speak sweet words with me

He was leaving, with a sweet voice, a sweet melody

I made many pleas, but it was of no use

Because the matter was beyond the king's mercy

O king, call him back with kindness and generosity

What can he do, he was leaving, burnt by the extremity of deprivation