Sol 5.6

  1. Night knelt, wrapped in the mantle of secrets,

    and in its stricken breast was the tremor of a tyrant.

  2. It seemed as though, with silence in all its recesses,

    processions of unbelievers passed before the consciences.

  3. And in the black dome lay thick coverlets;

    upon its cradle slept the eyes of radiant stars.

  4. It was as though these coverlets were a thief’s robe,

    with necklaces of jewels concealed within it.

  5. The phantom of dreams stirred from the depths of its cave,

    its trailing hems caught upon the eye sockets.

  6. The sleepers’ snores seemed like gentle breezes

    that the willow stirred above the graves.

  7. Ever since my mother opened my chamber’s windows,

    the fragrance of blossoms has made its way into my heart.

  8. The casements of the windows, flung wide, seemed

    the eyelids of a bewildered orphan with an aching heart.

  9. I lie upon a bed of embroidered cloth,

    with white curtains drooping over either side,

  10. as though I lay dead within the marble of a tomb,

    shrouded in a diaphanous veil of silks.

  11. I see my pen—the teacher—in the hush of night,

    sleeping with the papers beside the inkwells.

  12. What, I wonder, is it dreaming of now? Indeed, I

    can hear from it something like a poet’s sigh.

  13. O my pen, what harm if you were a knife,

    roaming nobly through the verdant fields?

  14. Flocks of birds would greet you,

    and before you the necks of enchanting flowers would bend.

  15. O my pen, what harm if you were a knife,

    preserving my exploits for me among the mountains?

  16. Then I would raise myself high after being brought low,

    and my proud deeds would spread my name across the plains.

  17. O pages, over which the ink of my feelings runs,

    while ostentation casts you among objects of ridicule!

  18. Gladly would I give you up, if only you were fertile earth

    over which the sweat of mighty men flows,

  19. and dawn poured upon it the Kawthar of its purity—

    a fountain finer and clearer than all my Kawthars.

  20. For its Kawthar revives the poor, whereas my Kawthar

    stirs life in the lifeless matter of notebooks.

  21. O pen, sleep in obscurity and do not wake;

    O my pages, sleep, for my mind has fallen asleep.

  22. O dawn, do not rise upon me, for in the darkness

    are graves wherein my feelings lie still.

Sol 5.6