I crawled to your resting place, burning and weeping —

had I done you justice, I would have visited you barefoot,

rubbing my face in the dust and the pebbles,

beating my cheeks until the tears destroy what adorns me,

kissing the tips of the boughs and their shade,

hoping something of the sweetness of your days remains in them...

For you were my companion in song and in wasting pain —

alas for me, the mourner, and alas for me, the announcer of death!!

You walked at my side for twenty years, and here I am,

following my dreams to the grave and folding up my sail.

Against pain you were the healer of my solace —

who is left me now, when you have become my sorrow and my disease?

Shall I weep? For whom shall I weep? Can the news be true?

Who is there for my longing, O Fouad, and who for me?

And who for the downy orphans in the freshness of childhood,

and for the fragrant pen that watered the bright blooms?

What day did not drink from you a breath of sweetness,

and what brow was not held high because of you?!

Companion of my youth, O heartbeat of my breast,

with which I buried a melody of my own blood —

O rose in our quarter breathing out perfume,

in you we lost the fragrance that was precious —

O inspirer in my homeland, creator of beauty's ornaments,

the crests of morning wept for you, O my country!!!

Companion of my youth, ask the Maker of the universe for one waking,

and you will hear my call in the valley of the graves.

I have grieved until my very limbs became part of you —

do you hear me chanting my elegy over you?

As if within your closed eyes were the sight of a sleepless watcher

who communes with you waking and keeps guard over you sleeping.

O Tammuz, grant me from your struggle one surge

to burst open my sorrows and set my wounds ablaze,

and water my blood with the bitterness of torment — for I

feel, at your resting place, that my weeping is sweet...

I love you this day; I adore you as a rebel

shattering hearts