I lament a moon that appeared in darkness, and an eclipse that veiled its light. I lament the illuminating sun, our Sheikh, the elder of time, and how his two poles were deceived. Is it blameworthy that I wept, early and late, and in my absence and evening? Is it blameworthy if my tears flow over the borders for our loss of his vision? Is it blameworthy if my tears turn to blood, consumed by my passion and sorrow? Is it blameworthy if I abandon my bed and the sweetness of my sleep in the darkness of his night? Is it blameworthy if I leave as a migrant, abandoning my homeland for the loss of meeting him? O people of the Sheikh's household, cry out in weeping, and praise the Sheikh's time, how wonderful it was! O people of the Sheikh's household, how was your life when the Sheikh died and his land was overshadowed? O people of the Sheikh's household, your time was fertile and abundant, spreading and growing. And now time has become a treacherous era, turning paradise into eternal harshness. Are you to be blamed for weeping, when the Sheikh's resting place has become his tomb? The earth trembles, the sky shakes, the throne of the Melleenina, our Sheikh, has made it weep. And so too are Mek and the city remaining, and the Arabs and the Persians weep for him. The travelers weep for his loss, saying, "O our refuge, O our pole!" The birds weep for him in the sky, and so do the beasts of the earth, alas! The fish in the depths of the waters are troubled, their trees and their fear mourn him. The entire universe has had its pillars shaken, and its mountains are lost in their confusion and wilderness. For the Sheikh, our Imam, has died, and his homelands have become desolate and his dwelling empty. O Tuti, your light has been covered by darkness, and that radiance has been extinguished by it. O Tuti, your fortress has crumbled, its people and its glory have been destroyed. O Tuti, how can people remain in you when their guide is drunk in his grave? O Tuti, how was the Sheikh's time, like the two Kerman in Al-Baqi, as it is told? O Tuti, the Sheikh was in you like a pearl, built on purity and its foundation. He left the world and its cities, turning towards the door of his Lord. He adhered to asceticism, devoted and full, and the longing for his Lord sufficed him. And love is entrenched in his limbs, watching to meet him throughout the nights. O, how happy he is!