خَلَعتُ مُجوني فَاستَرَحتُ مِنَ العَذلِ

وَكُنتُ وَما بي وَالتَماجُنُ مِن مِثلي

I cast off my passions and found relief from torment

I cast off my open vice and found relief from blame,

Yet I was, and passion was never found in one like me

Though I was—and what of it?—for debauchery suits my name.

أَيا ابنَ أَبانٍ هَل سَمِعتَ بِفاسِقٍ

يُعَدُّ مِنَ النُسّاكِ فيمَن مَضى قَبلي

O son of Aban, did you hear of a sinner

O Ibn Aban, have you ever heard of a libertine,

Who was counted among ascetics, before me?

Who counts himself among the ascetics of an ancient time?

أَلَم تَرَ أَنّي حينَ أَغدو مُسَبِّحاً

بِسَمتِ أَبي ذَرٍّ وَقَلبِ أَبي جَهلِ

Do you not see that when I rise to glorify God

Do you not see that when I go forth chanting praise,

With the composure of Abu Dharr and the heart of Abu Jahl

With the bearing of Abu Dharr, and the heart of Abu Jahl's ways?

وَأَخشَعُ في نَفسي وَأَخفِضُ ناظِري

وَسَجّادَتي في الوَجهِ كَالدِرهَمِ المَطلي

And I am humble in myself and lower my gaze

I feign humility within my soul and lower down my gaze,

While my prayer mat glows like a polished coin

While the prayer-mark on my face like a plated dirham plays.

وَآمُرُ بِالمَعروفِ لا مِن تَقِيَّةٍ

وَكَيفَ وَقَولي لا يُصَدِّقُهُ فِعلي

And I enjoin right but not out of piety

I command what is right, though not from pious seed,

How could that be, when my words belie my deeds?

And how could I, when my word is belied by my deed?

وَمَحبَرَتي رَأسُ الرَياءِ وَدَفتَري

وَنَعلايَ في كَفَّيَّ مِن آلَةِ الخَتلِ

My turban is the crown of hypocrisy, my shoes

My inkwell is the fountainhead of all hypocrisy,

Are tools of deception in my hands

And the sandals in my hands are tools of treachery.

أَأُمُّ فَقيهاً لَيسَ رَأيِي بِفِقهِهِ

وَلَكِن لَرُبَّ المُردِ مُجتَمِعُ الشَملِ

Shall I lead the jurists when I disagree with their jurisprudence?

I seek out the jurist, though his law is not my aim,

But I must, for the sake of the assembly full of fools

But rather for the beardless youths who gather in his name.

فَكَم أَمرَدٍ قَد قالَ والِدُهُ لَهُ

عَلَيكَ بِهَذا إِنَّهُ مِن أُلي الفَضلِ

So many fools whose fathers told them

For how many a young lad has heard his father say:

“Hold on to this, it is the best of virtues”

"Cling close to this man, for he walks the virtuous way."

يَفِرُّ بِهِ مِن أَن يُصاحِبَ شاطِراً

كَمَن فَرَّ مِن حَرِّ الجِراحِ إِلى القَتلِ

They flee from an intelligent companion

He flees with him to save him from a scoundrel's breath,

As one fleeing from hot coals to death

Like one who flees the burning wound to run straight into death.