Far be it from me ever to forget their yearning love; the mere remembrance of it keeps the ancient pledges alive.

They are the secret of my secrets, the light of my eyes (1), my spirit, my scented balm, my solace and my joy— all this has come to me through them.

They are the very pupil of my eyes, my heart and even my outward frame; they are the furthest limit of my quest and the scene of my beholding.

In the dwellings where they abide my true life resides, and in the subtleties of their meanings (2) dwell the household of my affection.

In their self-disclosure they are my suns whenever they rise; in their withdrawal they remain my meadows and my paradise (3).

Wherever they may be, they are the end of my seeking; wherever they settle, they are my wish and my desire.

They are the light of my lights and the secret of my realities; they are the intimate companionship that comforts me and the refuge of my fear.

Will my heart one day be healed by seeing them amid the gardens of bliss, and will my burning thirst at last be cooled?

May my soul live through them a life of untroubled happiness, a life of unceasing delight free of hardship (4).

If they would but grant me a single glance at their beauty, I should, by their good pleasure, attain every link of union.

Upon them be Allah’s peace as long as the morning breeze blows and the birds wail and coo in longing.

The time has come for me to bare the hidden depths of my ardor and show the fault-finders the true root of my grief.

I weep for the one who used to gather us together upon obedience to the All-Merciful at every instant.

I lament my sorrows for what has befallen me and scatter my griefs in the ordering of this poem.

I have lost an imam who ever trusted in Allah, turning no ear to anything but the Sunnah.