I have become a resting place
With ever-fresh graves
From those of my uncle Naqi
Who was my first death
To my last: Mother,
Who had become so beautiful
In her mourning dress for her brother.

.

A dove that we released at my uncle’s grave
Has not yet returned.
And my mother, who at her death
Called out to her sister Ozra,
Has not yet let go of
My own sister’s hand.

.

Ah! I forgot about my cousin:
Karim died before his father did.
After death he tried to return home
Through a cistern on the roof.