How can we forget our gatherings in that abode? Can our tragedy bring us hope? The soul's meadows have not dried up, and our memories burn brightly in our hearts. O friend, do not think the walls are made of stone. Rather, they are souls in the stillness of the night, beseeching God. We complain to Him when longing afflicts us. Our souls have departed in the wake of those who have departed.

وَكَيْفَ نَنْسَىٰ بِتِلْكَ الدَّارِ لَمَّتَنَا
وَهَلْ بِمَأْسَتِنَا يَحْيَا بِنَا أَمَلُ
مَرَابِعُ الرُّوْحِ مَا جَفَّتْ شَوَطِئُهَا
وَذِكْرَيَاتٌ لَنَا فِيْ الصَدْرِ تَشْتَعِلُ
يَا صَاحِ لاَ تَحْسَبِ الجُدْرَانَ مِنْ حَجَرٍ
بَلْ أَنْفُسٌ فِيْ سُكُوْنِ الْلَيْلِ تَبْتَهِلُ
للهِ نَشْكُوْ إذَا مَا الشَّوْقُ أَوْجَعَنَا
أَرْوَاحُنَا رَحَلَتْ فِيْ إثْرِ مَنْ رَّحَلَوْا