Sol 5.6

  1. The sovereign of the earth says, “Your body has grown gaunt.”

    Even so, my honor stands, and the praise I earn is fair.

  2. For the finest thing about an Indian blade is that it is

    slender, fine at both edges, and burnished.

  3. Aʿwaj-bred racehorses, when they line up,

    and hard spear-shafts and arrows alike are slender.

  4. So though I may be gaunt among men, I

    am a mighty bearer of the heaviest loads they cannot bear.

  5. I straighten adversity’s branches when they twist,

    with gentleness—and among men, my equal is rare.

  6. I see that King al-Manṣūr has taken exception to my stroke—

    yet what keen sword is without a nick?

  7. How many favors and acts of kindness from you I owe,

    before which my gratitude falls short, however long it runs.

  8. And how many a word bestowed on me, and many a glance—

    my acceptance is proof that I caught it.

  9. If I am assured of one glimpse of your gracious regard,

    then nothing fate decrees has any power over me.

Sol 5.6