1. The asker with his crescent-like smile,
Did its aroma exhale ambergris or camphor?

2. And did he seek skill in his fingers
To fashion a jewel or essence sublime?

3. Or did the parchment turn to camphor near him,
Exhaling musk over his fragrant robes?

4. Or did the chest of a singing girl tear its pocket,
Embroidering patterns on the lining within?

5. Perhaps she saw the dark lining by lamplight’s glow,
And stitched its likeness on the lining, dark as dates.

6. O you who pretended a script of excellence,
A blossom whose light fades slowly away!

7. Why not consider the sky as your scroll,
The night as your ink, the stars as your script?

8. A judge came when truth was a withered branch,
He watered it with justice till it bore fruit.