الْمَقَامَةُ الصُّورِيَّةُ

Tears flow and sorrow stirs whenever it is cold.

Omi ẹ̀kún ń ṣàn àti ìbànújẹ́ ń ru nígbà gbogbo tí ó bá tutu.

And daily worries are a confusing matter.

Àwọn àníyàn ojoojúmọ́ jẹ́ ohun tí ó ń dàrú.

And efforts in hope are short-stepped and crooked.

Àwọn akitiyan nínú ìrètí jẹ́ kékeré àti tí ó gbóògì.

I wish my day had ended when I was forced to leave it.

Mo fẹ́ kí ọjọ́ mi ti parí nígbà tí wọ́n fi ipa yọ mi kúrò níbẹ̀.

He said: When he revealed his homeland.

Ó sọ pé: Nígbà tí ó ṣàfihàn orílẹ̀-èdè rẹ̀.

And I understood what he recited.

Mo sì lagbọ́ye ohun tí ó kọ.

I realized that he was our scholar, Abu Zayd.

Mo mọ̀ pé òun ni ọ̀jọ̀gbọ́n wa, Baba Seidu.

Even though old age had bound him with chains.

Bí ó tilẹ̀ jẹ́ pé àgbàlagbà ti dè é mọ́lẹ̀.

I hastened to shake his hand.

Mo yara láti fọwọ́ rẹ̀ mú.

And I seized the opportunity to dine with him from his plate.

Mo sì lo àǹfààní láti jẹun pẹ̀lú rẹ̀ láti inú àwo rẹ̀.