How many generations upon generations have the hands of death torn away! How often has the earth, through its trials, transformed and then hidden in its soil those with whom I once kept company—people of every sort—whom I escorted all the way to their graves, [then I turned back from them to the occupation of the truly bankrupt].

While you remain hunched over this world, vying for it—
among its suitors you are eager, always amassing.
You tread upon peril and rise each morning carefree;
if you but reflected, would you know what risk you run?
A man who labours ceaselessly for his worldly lot
while neglecting his Hereafter is, beyond doubt, a loser.

So for how long will you keep rushing toward the world and busying yourself with its cravings? Grey hair has already threaded your temples, the warner has arrived, yet you stay heedless of what is intended for you, absorbed in the pleasure of today and tomorrow, [even though you have witnessed the downfall of the pleasure-seekers and seen with your own eyes the calamities that struck them].

(1)
The very remembrance of the terror of death, the grave and decay
is a deterrent that drives a man from pastime and indulgence.
After forty approaches, is there still room for postponement?
The grey upon your nape is a crushing herald.

(2)
It is as though you devote yourself deliberately to what will harm you,
wandering bewildered, veering from the path of right guidance.

Look at the nations that have passed and the kings that have perished—how (3)
Time consumed them, how death visited them.
Their traces have been wiped from the earth,
while only their stories remain,
[and they have become decayed bones beneath the dust until the Day of Resurrection and Return].

(4)
They turned to crumbling bones in the soil;
the halls they once frequented are deserted, their chambers desolate.

(5)
They have taken up residence in a realm where no visiting occurs—
how could the inhabitants of the graves pay visits?
All you see are tombs in which they dwell,
level flats over which the winds blow.

How many a man of might, of sovereignty, troops and supporters—
he mastered his world, won every desire,
built palaces and lofty mansions,
and amassed priceless treasures (6) and stores,
[together with the choicest of slave girls and freewomen]—

Yet when the hand of death came swiftly upon him,
the hoards he kept could not turn it back.
The fortresses he erected, ringed by moats and estates,
could not ward it off.
No stratagem repelled death from him,
nor could armies hope to defend him.

From Allah there came upon him a decree that cannot be repelled;
His judgment descended—a fate that cannot be forestalled.
Exalted is Allah—the Sovereign, the Compeller, the Supreme, the Almighty, the Subduer—
who breaks the tyrants and annihilates the arrogant,
[before whose might every ruler is humbled, and by whose power every potentate is effaced].

A mighty King whose decree none can repel;
All-Wise, All-Knowing, whose command prevails, the Overpowering.