يا كاتِباً كَتَبَ الغَداةَ يَسُبُّني

مَن ذا يُطيقُ بَراعَةَ الكُتّابِ

O writer who wrote this morning to revile me,

Who can withstand the artful skill of scribes?

لَم يَرضَ بِالإِعجامِ حينَ كَتَبتُهُ

حَتّى شَكَلتُ عَلَيهِ بِالإِعرابِ

He was not content with dots alone when I wrote it down,

Until I had marked it fully with every vowel sign.

أَخَشيتَ سوءَ الفَهمِ حينَ فَعَلتَ ذا

أَم لَم تَثِق بِيَ في قِراةِ كِتابي

Did you fear a misunderstanding when you did this?

Or did you not trust me to read the letter sent to me?

لَو كُنتَ قَطَّعتَ الحُروفَ فَهِمتَها

مِن غَيرِ وَصلِكَهُنَّ بِالأَسبابِ

Had you chopped the letters apart, I would have understood them,

Even without your joining them together with strokes.

فَأَرَدتَ إِفهامي فَقَد أَفهَمتَني

وَصَدَقتَ فيما قُلتَ غَيرَ مُحابي

You intended to make me understand, and indeed you have,

And you spoke the truth in what you said, showing no partiality.