1. The eyes of poetry awaken in the mirrors
So the silver of hopeful dreams blossoms

2. The eyes of poetry read my palm
And write the story of the melting horizon

3. They see in me, and in myself, my endurance
And reveal the witness of the wounded past

4. The eyes of poetry ignite between my essence
And me the spring of my veins and my spirit

5. So I don't know, if I were to say poetry
Was my words poetic or were they my wounds?!

6. Are the breaths of the ode, and the downpour of Riyah
From Paradise in the slaughtered letter

7. In poetry we have either life or death
And the death of the free is like proper poetry

8. So life may become like the land of "Yahwa"
And the poem may become like the wave

9. The agitators spread that disaster
Has surrounded the eloquent bird of poetry

10. "Folklore" has become a mood
So don't mind this brute idea!

11. How much barrenness is sown with claims
Peering when they look at the slopes!

12. The agitators spread that disaster
Has folded the prose of the book of fervor

13. And that today's poem has resigned
Sleeping on letters of tin!

14. It has Layla's night of estrangement
It has a dawn like the dawn of Ibn Al-Jumouh!

15. The mistress of inspiration arms herself with a sword
And curses the stumbling of bad luck

16. And medicine is no use against death!
And swords are no use over the buried!

17. Thus they lied, and some of the truth is a lie
That hides the disgrace of frank lying!

18. The failure blames the world and complains
Of the corruption of religion in the windy market

19. And the mothers of horses are sterile when
Weakness spoils the ripe meaning

20. So woe to tomorrow from today, and from what
It hides wounds under its armpit!

21. Save poetry, and calamities wander
With what the crow has croaked in every wind

22. In the crucible of creation will remain an inspiration
From the poets, and the poets inspire

23. Poetry will remain the book of the wilds
Loudly pulsing with the promising oath

24. It will remain in existence a lung and a heart
Dawn of sound, the ridges bursting forth

25. It barters the rose of the future for a past
Of barrenness and the buried age

26. And we begin dreams as poetry
So the folds gush at dawn

27. With it we bring back scents to the evenings
And carry its book on the day of departure

28. And without poetry there would be no languages
Nor did imagination conceive the extent of ambition

29. And without poetry the clouds of feelings would not flow
An army of pouring showers

30. It waters the folds of history within us
And covers us in blowing spindrift

31. It rebuilds our faces, and yearns
For beauty's face in an ugly face

32. Is poetry, when the blades of odes are weary, anything but a human and a soul?!
For many a poem has sought a banner

33. And many a poem the opening of conquests!