1. I admit with my eyes that I want to see her changed,
With the heads of the pampered as a trophy,

2. Swimmers in a sea of blood and tumult,
Gushing out, stirred up and agitated,

3. As if mounted on their poles were crazed demons,
Were it not for eloquence and a banner,

4. They charge in the darkness of night as though
The faces of the outrunners were the day,

5. They have precedence in trampling the slain foe,
And some of them recoil from capturing a prisoner,

6. To the living they show no hope of clemency,
Neither given to devotion nor restrained from excess,

7. When they determine no sin makes them falter
Both war and captivity are their nature,

8. Their weapons on making peace are adornment,
And their war at the encounter is to flee,

9. As if the cheeks of the flowers were upon their faces
When it is said “This is battle and strife!”

10. A fox among them makes peace and its tail is perfidy,
And a believing heap among them is betrayal and bribery,

11. So neither does the rain-drenched guest gain lodging,
Nor the lost wanderer of night find fire,

12. Their bodies are like weak oleanders,
And their sides move about without dignity,

13. I wished the tribe’s pillar would collapse,
That strings might snap and vengeance be gained,

14. I planted love and friendship in the wrong place,
And did not realize deeds are fruit,

15. I thought my passion diminished,
And the full moon was not unveiled,

16. If fate sculpted my defects,
Then emotion stirred and honor was restored,

17. For with the son of Sulṭān is gift and help,
Sufficient for me are his power and support.