1. Neither lightning in its glittering nor clouds in the palm of Pleiades shine brighter than your brilliant mind, nor more wakeful than your overflowing words.
I see your hands kindling the mind like firewood, for no man rivals your excellence.

2. A cup of tormenting words, when blended with camphor snow, freezes to ice, yet the brilliance of your words melts that ice with their warmth.
People swim in the sea of your two moons out of love. Glory to the Owner of Glory!

3. The torment of souls became sweet from that ice, and their sadness departed.
I cannot forget it any more than white locks in hair or scars on skin.

4. The night has washed with its soap and overflowed, dyeing the horizon, then wiped off lest the brink seize its call at daybreak,
So the thread of night returned from its color white as a forehead when it clears.

5. And the mountains you saw folly covet moved on.
That passion was no whale swimming in the sphere of shooting stars, no butting bull.

6. The matter is more calamitous, and that which is absent from the complaint of souls is more copious than what is attainable.
The hand of fortune emptied its knife on the wretched, so they were slaughtered.

7. Souls narrowed from the excess pouring from heads and chests gashed open.
That bright horizon turned white from weeping, the plash foaming from barking,

8. The branch snapped, and how many birds cried over it after it had echoed!
It was as though the sea evaporated, leaving its salt, which the horizon scattered over the wounds.

9. O you who bandages wounds with his words yet forbids Time from committing crimes!
By God, no cave has preserved on the page of Time sweeter salt than you!

10. I swear, if the sun were weighed against a golden dinar, its weight would prevail!