وَمخطوطِ السَوادِ كَأَنَّ دَمعاً

جَرى وَدَماً هُناكَ عَلى حِدادِ

The manuscript of darkness is as if

A tear flowed, and blood there upon sorrow.

إِذا اِلتَبسَت وُجوهُ الحُكمِ يَوماً

قَضى فَمَضى عَلى نَهجِ السَدادِ

If the faces of rulers one day intermix,

Judging and passing away on the path of integrity.

فَأَيُّ بَياضِ نُعمى لَيسَ يُعزى

لَمُشتَمِلٍ بِسِربالِ السَوادِ

What brightness of bliss is not owed

To one clad in the gown of darkness?

تَلَوّى فَاِلتَمَحتُ بِهِ ضَميراً

دَخيلَ السِرِّ مَمذوقَ الوِدادِ

It twisted, so I glanced at it, a conscience

Of intimate mystery, tasted kindness.

يُجيبُ وَما سَأَلتُ لَهُ مُجيباً

فَيا عَجَباً لِإِفصاحِ الجَمادِ

It answers me though I did not ask it to respond.

Oh, the wonder of the eloquence of inanimates!