1. Meeting you, O Abdal-Ilah, is the cure
For my soul from an illness that hid in my thoughts

2. Your distance from me made my heart grieve
It melts sincerity, for intention is not just

3. And after you I enjoyed no pleasure
And saw nothing but confusion and regret

4. And after you I conversed with no one of wit
Who suits my nature, reciting and composing

5. And manners make me drink from him as if
Intoxicated by smooth wine in a flask

6. And if he tries composing rhymes you’ll find him
In the far reaches of rhyme, ruling and directing

7. He calls to the most high and forbids sin
And follows the chosen prophet and his followers

8. His state raises my state and his tongue
Trains with it the garden of mysticism’s hearts

9. God has given long lives to dissolutes who think
They are nobles for the times have cleared for them

10. And they have no ambition in religion or chivalry
Their only concern is the harshness of deprivation

11. And none of them can understand a letter yet
The ignorant claims to be devout and letters’ author