1. With my own hands I trace patterns between my purpose and exile,
And visions dance before my eyes like a gilded veil,

2. I have erased them, O spirits, and with them wove
The first wisps of clouds yet to be gathered,

3. And the destinies have flowed through them like trails of ruin,
Where every fateful moment takes its turn,

4. Until even if my gaze turned back
To any verse among its verses, it would not aim straight.

5. It shunned all but the chaste, the temperate and continent,
The frugal, radiant and immaculate,

6. The bridler of steeds and vanquisher of raids,
The valiant Davidic warrior and companion of oasis and playground,

7. We stand to greet them with yearning salutations,
And ascend sighs on the steps of play,

8. And rain down from our lids water as though it were
For their ruins a bowl of wine and deadly poison,

9. Whenever we blot out their lines with tears
To be inscribed by their trotting hooves on parchment,

10. And however much we show tenderness with a weeping eye,
Ribs dart with stirring longing,

11. And when we bow down submitting, it is prostration,
And if we limit ourselves to worthy mention, it is devotion,

12. If I mention among them departing souls and one led astray,
And their theater in the shadow of a sinful love,

13. The rancor of the jealous and their malicious glances,
And water in it undirtied for roses,

14. I mention it to recall the youth of days gone by
And the blissful life with twin moons serene,

15. When your maidens’ lot was happiness untroubled
And my branch was a moist, tender little shoot,

16. I would wander slowly dragging my skirt each night,
And steal with my message between a crevice and hollow,

17. And rise at dawn, next day pursuing love,
Coaxing a sleepy darling in the perfumed bower,

18. When will you give me rest from all unrest, O consoler,
You who cast a pale shadow white as Indian cane?

19. And lower the moon at night shining
On the lines of a face above a braided forelock,

20. You would say, removing your veil and collar,
As teardrops of the longing lover flow:

21. “How lovely when tears wash the kohl from her eyes
And she wipes it away with crimson fingers!

22. I saw you last eve, beloved, and you murdered me,
While watching over me with the tails of a striped garment.

23. However she wished, she tossed me back and forth to God,
Loving and changing on every state.

24. I hid my reproach when she reproached,
Just as she showed my murder yet it was I who was the fool.

25. Sublime one who will not judge me to be a lover,
And conceal the trysts of the guilty beloved!

26. The secret of my sickness is not hidden from you -
Do you have love for me, as I have infatuation for you?

27. For today, from your love, a censurer observes me,
My thinness, distraction, tears and pallor.

28. When the tattooed ones incite me, the desert ghosts haunt me,
So guard my eyes in the zenith of every star.”

29. You spend the night, O Sublime One, spending my nights,
With an eye that will never close to it or drink in sleep,

30. And you never mention the pact we pledged in the fever,
And the moment we spent in the laments of the bereaved,

31. And the love that flowed in my veins after
I attached my heart to it for nights of exile,

32. So if you reconcile with me, you grant the thanks of my comrades,
And if you kill me, O Sublime One, you seek.

33. Do you not know that I am the brother of Khinzawanah
Who humbles herself before her, though she is savaged?

34. And the composer of praise that glorifies
And the refined like flowers set to music?

35. Whose wit ranges like the sun in every spot
Or greenery that does not fail in east and west,

36. And best art is scattering praise
Around its groves with thanks to the Prophet,

37. And supreme eulogy is praising the one
Who settled alive, then dead, in Yathrib,

38. Whose Torah spoke of his merit
And the Gospel in books of firm decree,

39. Who revived the camel with his greeting
As he revived the first rows with the likes of it,

40. From whose palm the spring of water flowed
Whenever the water-skin came to him in the barren plain to drink,

41. Enumerating his virtues is beyond counting grains of sand,
And none can number them, however plenty a fool,

42. So Glory to Him who ascended with him on a night journey
From the Sacred Mosque to the Farthest Mosque!

43. He graced him on a night journey when He ascended with him,
Gaining through it what no other prophet gained,

44. Every sitting-place felt rapture with him, each dwelling
Of angels’ realms, over a span of the horizon,

45. Angels of heaven greet him with peace
While others come to meet him with family and welcome,

46. He won the proof of prophethood and turned back
To his home and lit hearth, no longer a youth.

47. The sweet basil was perfume from his radiant light
And his fragrance encompassed every grove and dale,

48. Muhammad, best of messengers, last of them,
And foremost in merit, of excellent office.

49. My Master, rather the Master of all the lands,
The limit of my hopes, the one I beseech and desire!

50. Indeed, the beauty of hope led me
And guided me to your door, well-guarded, my love and fervor,

51. My sins, so grave, broke my spine,
And it is your way with a guest at your door, one who sins,

52. I am not but hopeful of your mercy,
So do not disappoint me, my hope cut off!

53. Save me, for I seek sanctuary in your nearness,
Say, about a man who comes in intimacy to you,

54. Grant me pardon and be my intercessor,
Help me with a gift of your bestowal, O rainclouds!

55. The prayers of God be upon you, lasting
As long as dawn breaks and stars shine in order,

56. Particularly you, no, encompassing your two companions with praise,
And your family whose censers have not cooled.