But why bud ye, O elder-tree,

with leaves afresh?

Methinks ye have never mourned

Ṭarīf 's son, my brother

Translated by R. A. Nicholson in Translations of Eastern Poetry and Prose, p. 36.

Many a day

the length and width

of time

But my grief is longer

than both

They said: must you weep

over every grave you see

for a grave that lies

between Liwā and Dakādik?

I said: verily, sorrow evokes sorrow

So let me be!

Every grave

is a grave of Mālik

Mālik was the poet's brother.

Can my cheeks disown my tears

after they have streamed down

a much traveled course?

It was as though my eyelids

over my eyes

were like the torn garment

of a bereaved mother

A bereaved mother used to tear the front of her garment as a sign of mourning for her child.