You have concealed your passion until the concealment has harmed you, and there is no blame like the blame of those who reproach; the spiteful have slandered you, though your passion had already betrayed you before them, had such betrayal been of any avail, and the length of your gazing upon her has only increased your infatuation.
It has worn you down, and the sorrow has wasted away your very bones, leaving you no strength.
You have become like the one who died of grief in the wake of Hind, or like one who has been made to drink poison.
You blame a soul that will not die so that it might find release,
Nor does it live a life that has any savor.
So taste the consequences of it, for you have long claimed that it
Is a form of guidance, while they see that your claim is nothing but a lie.