His story

He said, telling a story that happened:

I lived in the grip of distress

I was tired of life to the utmost extent

A longing flowing without rest...

Shame has adorned me, shame is not my adornment

It entered the neck, and from it it came out

There was no way out of its collar

Only the collar of affliction weighed on me

As if the earth threw me on

The depths of misery from those arguments

Anxiety increased, and I did not know when

Anxiety was belittling what was raised

And I saw the dream in which I am immersed

In the middle of it I still wonder

And I made my way to excellence

"The breeze is not straight", it is crooked

Every time I take a step, it takes me back

Backwards, I see no excuses for myself

And I saw the door closed in front of me

Every time I open it, my heart cramps

And my years exceeded the clouds, I did not

ascend, I am troubled in my life

And I drank the sweat of heaven, I am

Thirsty from fatigue in the valley

I did not boast about what I am hurt

"I am hurt" and I am in turmoil

There is a mountain before me to climb

Ghosts came to me from every valley

They leaned on me right and left in the darkness

And I see the dawn of a future woven

He embraced the high with his resurrection

And the resurrection of the high mountain is a spirit