1. I sought refuge in my poetry, in my office,
Not knowing what it would offer me.

2. My mind displayed life to me like a market,
Exhibiting its wares to the discerner.

3. In it was the beautiful and the ugly,
And each was readied for the desirer.

4. It inspired in me what I hadn't imagined,
Obediently yielding to the writer.

5. Black, red, and white pigeons,
And wondrously wondrous things.

6. Gardens, deserts, flowers and thorns,
Water, and beloved wine for the drinker.

7. That sky, and what lies under it,
And what lies above, of its piercing stars.

8. Homes that narrow, and those palaces
Adorned with the glory of riders.

9. And people with the mien of worshippers,
From the old man to the monk, the hermit.

10. Each has a station, from heaven
To hell, to the playground of the player.

11. I obtained casually what had not occurred to me,
Nature poured itself into my mold,

12. Of poetry, but with wisdom
That comes like wind to the drinker.

13. So the gentle critic praises me, and I don't know
If he is right or just being kind.

14. For many who err are excused
If they cover with discretion the lapser.

15. And if he flatters me, filling my arrogance,
The sin is on the companion.

16. Had he been sincere in his advice, he wouldn't fault me,
So there's no use in advising the lapser.

17. There's no merit in poetry if I say it
Naturally, for my saying is obligatory.