By my father, Ibn Wahb, and my mother
be taken away from me, public
when the clouds passed by, they showed us
Your character is not reprehensible
I envied your generous deed for glory
and the clouds overflowed with clouds,
turn away from me to myself with mouths
A hadith like the unified core
Then you sent me your go-to glasses.
The cup of adversity
And if you concealed from me
It is as if I am in India or in the Romans
I am not satisfied with you approaching an ivory
He made me close to Ibn Abd al-Karim