O friends, pity my helplessness
        Before a cruel destiny.
        My soul is wounded to its core -
        My own dear child was rtpped from me.

        My time of happiness has flown,
        All tarnished is my golden throne,
        Chill autumn wind has overthrown
        My tender growing sapling tree.

        Untimely death, allowing no appeal,
        Has cast me down the well of pain !feel.
        My heart is shattered quite on fortiene wheel -
        My feeble body is a falling tree,

        I cannot rest a moment, cannot stay -
        Not in this world of immi~zent decay
        I'm blind to everything except dismay,
        Which can but leave me weeping helplessly.

        Like moths aflame whichever way they dart
        Fly sorrows to the candle of my heart.
        My back is bou'ed, my eyes drip tears that smart
        To quench this angit ish from fate's cruelty.

        Alas, how deeply sorrows burn !
        I scream aloud, I scream and yearn
        To hold my son close. His return
        Alone might salve my beggary.

        So Makhtumkuli can't abate
        His cries, such is his inner state.
        His loss has left him desolate
        And black is all futurity.