1. To how many have I spun poetry in censure and praise
And dressed it in silk whether forbidden or allowed

2. And opened from its gates every lock
Upon which my mind raids with conquest’s advance

3. And every imperfect one makes me his partner in its prosody
Rivaling the dawn’s radiance with his lantern

4. They blame me for praising the tribe
Yet have no eloquence or fortress like mine

5. I disobeyed the kindling of poetry when it sought to ignite
So the weakness of igniting made it ignite me

6. He lags behind my glory so imagines himself
Critiquing my words when he is the criticism of rubbish

7. So O howler at the bright star from the abyss of soil
Be gentle, for you have wearied yourself with howling

8. And leave upon my horns from butting my boulder
Else you will weaken your horns with butting

9. You fancied your mind like my mind
With bloodied thoughts and wounds

10. Though the turbid saying is like its clarity
And the sweet and salty do not taste the same

11. Poems I composed only for the Caliph
Or a knowledgeable minister who knows the value of praise

12. Or a generous one whose roses lead him
With his noble manners and fine nature

13. A king whom you see in his patience and vengeance
Life and death with the sword and forgiveness

14. A youth whose days succeeded by his deeds
Without hearing stingy and generous reproach

15. So for you O crown of the caliphate, all who
Partake of my praise, be they stingy or generous

16. For you have corrupted rhymes for all people
With generosity, preventing their return to harmony

17. And told them whoever does not honor you
Do not look upon him as capital or profit

18. So how could that promise be fulfilled
When you are paired with success in your promises

19. If they close their eyes from all but you
Turning away and not allowing any but you a glance