1. O Abu Dulaf, the poor man's eye
Is on the one who hopes for the use of your hands and desires it

2. I see for you a door closed, aloof
If they open it away from you, then misery is its contents

3. And you are not ashamed of blame for one
Whom you are stingy over something which you consume

4. As if you were a drum raising sounds, self-admiring
Empty of virtues, desolate are its entrances

5. And the strangest thing about you is the surrender of his matter
To you jestingly, and you are the receiver