Beware, o my friend, you will drown in my blood:
'Tis best not to trouble my wounded heart,
Forced to part with my people, my native land,
With the dearest, most cherished friends to part.

I gave my faith to a perfidious crowd;
Life has passed in vain, now I know beyond doubt.
Traitress fortune has brought my spirit to rout,
And my sorrowful heart has been torn apart.

My tears mixed with blood daily flow faster.
My soul is drowned in a flood of disaster;
Of my fortunes I am no longer master;
No one can know how my wounds smart.

If my tears will flow faster day after day,
If I drown in blood, don't rebuke me, pray.
Were a thousand new suns to arise one day,
They could never bring light to my grief-darkened heart.

I, the sick Vidadi, from my household and land
And from all whom I loved and cherished was banned.
No physicians, no doctors can understand
My disease, much less cure it, for all their art.

Translated by Dorian Rottenberg