A hundred kisses I send to the dust
That your feet whirl up.
A hundred times melancholy you had to suffer to find bread.
If only I could become the calluses on your hand.
Not once did you complain, or say that you were tired
I bowed before your sacrifice.
Just like you circle the Kaaba,
I want to circle you.
But even that would not suffice,
To repay your hardship.