Abu Dhu’ayb Al-Hudhali (d. 649)
Run down by fate’s spite
My body hangs, a mantle on a broom;
With wealth enough to ease all pain
I turn at night from back to belly
Side after side after side.
Who puts pebbles on my couch when my sons died?
I tried but could not shield
Them well enough from fate
Whose talon grip
Turns amulet to toy.
Thorns tear out my eyes. I lie,
a flagstone at the feet of Time
All man wear me down
But even those my pain delights
Envy that I cannot cringe
At fortune’s spite.