1. The sultan commanded the poet one day, so he came to him
In a robe of faded color, with sides falling apart

2. And shoes about to slip off his feet
He said, describe my glory, for in your description, poetry finds glory

3. I have the palace that no bird can reach its height
And I have the garden that is fragrant with musk in its soil

4. And I have the army from which death drips from its spears
And I have the forests and the high summits and the waters

5. And I have joy and people's misery comes from me and their comfort
Indeed this universe is my kingdom, I am its god in the universe

6. The poet laughed at what his ears had heard
And wished to talk back but his lips disobeyed him

7. He said, I don't see things as you do
My kingdom has folded over your kingdom and erased it

8. The palace tells of a refined and eloquent poet's skill
And informs about your distance from it

9. It is for the elite who frequent it and circle around its beauty
So when they pass, it is as if it never existed

10. You will perish while its majesty remains
Like a ship, if it becomes empty of sailors

11. The garden, the garden is of a generous poet
Of pleasant composition and exquisite sensibility

12. He lined its edges and adorned its soil
With the wonders of color and shade

13. For a butterfly that lives for it and a bee
That lives by it and a poet like me

14. And a doe that sheds her tears over it
As showers protect its buds

15. And a nightingale singing, conversing with nightingales
With song, and for the light breezes

16. So when the spring season passes, you neglect it
While it remains in my heart and my mind

17. The army is devoted to you for what you clothe it and feed it
Its obedience is for bread and its loyalty is its leash

18. It is your greatest tool and your strike force
But if it starves in the shade of your throne one night

19. It is the one with its swords that will shatter you
You have its swords from it but tomorrow

20. Its swords and arrows will be for your toothbrush
Do you think it marched to battle exultant

21. If not for what poets compose about it
And if it hums is it not but a poem

22. From a poet like me that makes it hum
You grasped the sea by its pearl

23. But did you possess its roar?
It belongs to the night pouring over it its devotion

24. And morning spilling its light while it laughs
Did you mix its waters? Did you dye

25. Its sands? Did you shape its rocks?
It belongs to the winds that shake it and stir it

26. And the comets hear its growl in the darkness
It belongs to the birds enchanted with it

27. Not those who frighten its birds
It belongs to the enchanted poetry it whimsically creates

28. Maidens from its waves that it falls in love with their maidens
And those who see in it a symbol of their existence

29. And those who know how to portray it for others
O you who fishes pearls from its depths

30. Your hands took its trivial part from the momentous
Do not claim it for it cannot be possessed, it is

31. Like the garden, your effort is to smell its fragrance
And I passed the high mountain but its beauty

32. Did not conceal itself from me and I am no prince
And you passed but did not see its rocks

33. Laughing for you or its does dancing for you
And I relayed to its ants what you claim

34. They were astonished at how much you prattled
Your friend said, can he be more stubborn

35. Or tattooed or a babbler, a fabricator
Does he spin for you like the spider its webs

36. Spinning, and build like eagles their nests
Does he fill the valleys with muddy flows like dawn

37. And make barren places lush like rain
Does he roll up like the night the plains and hills

38. The inhabited dwellings and the abandoned
So I told it no, and it said to name it

39. Without fear, an arrogant fabricator
The sultan boiled with rage, what a boil

40. And the love of tyranny shone in his pupils
He called to the executioner, bring the sword

41. The executioner rushed to him
He said, sever the head of this boy

42. For his head is a burden on his shoulders
The sword is forged for harvesting necks

43. And this is the neck of a blabbermouth
I will kill him and toss his body to the dogs

44. And let his soul go to hell
Hearing and obeying, my lord, and the anger

45. Surged like death in his blade
And it was but a blink before the head flew off his shoulders

46. The poet fell prostrate, scratching the ground with both hands
As if searching for his head

47. The sultan laughed at his bowing
Then stood whispering to himself

48. One with a paradise became without his paradise
Yes, thus the poet perished

49. As the sinner wrongdoer perishes
So no bird was disturbed in a garden

50. Nor a star extinguished in the sky
Nor the lush trees grieved

51. Nor the murmuring stream saddened
And the killer was compensated for his murder

52. With abundant wealth and smooth cheeks
So his despicable nature said to him

53. Would that I had a victim each day
On an obscure night with no stars

54. Death crept into the palace
Between the guards' swords and arrows

55. And the Indian iron swords
To the bed of the greatest king

56. To the prince of land and sea
So he left the world while in it still

57. Were wines and songs
The mountain did not extend its grief over him

58. Nor did the lute waste away in the garden
In the oblivion of death and wear of time

59. The sultan and poet meet
One without glory and one without

60. Humiliation, so neither victor nor defeated
The fates embraced those destinies

61. And the oppressed and oppressor kept company
The poet does not mind being killed

62. Beyond the grave there are no swords or spears
And the king does not care to be disgraced

63. Blame and praise are the same to the dead
And generations passed in succession

64. One disappearing, another emerging
I decayed upon the lofty palace yet

65. Neither the walls stand nor the pillars
And I walked upon the dense army yet

66. No branded horses or armor remain
They took those who did right and those who did wrong

67. And carried those who suffered and those who prospered
And those whose being was melted by love

68. And those whose hearts were corroded by envy
And they folded kings without number

69. As if they never existed on earth
And the murdered poet remains

70. His words as if they are eternity
The old man touches in its aspects

71. Images of passion and nascent wisdom