1. Between the drooping eyelids and the sleepy fog,
A sword of cane, intense in slaying lives,

2. It sheds blood and kills intentionally without fire,
Without wealth or sin or burden.

3. Magic is its making, murder is its trait,
Slaying is its habit with kohl and sleepy fog.

4. How strange is its slaying, and it being narcissus,
As if it rivals souls with pride.

5. It ends the emptiness of passion and infatuation,
If it saw that it would be jealous in its love.

6. Its wink when it desires nothing but our ruin,
To hunt us in the threads of magic fully rigged.

7. It serves wine though intoxicated without wine,
And wine is forbidden from wholesomeness and mixture.

8. I sacrifice it - may Allah heal it from illness,
For beauty while sick has splendor.

9. It infects the heart with the sickness it contains,
Until it melts with the embers of burning love.

10. I was not of those who believed contagion,
Nor took to that saying as my path.

11. But since I saw what I have shown, I said it,
For I had clear proof among proofs.