سائِل بغُرّته الهلالَ المُقمِرا

أَشَذىً تفاوَحَ عَرفُه أم عَنبَرا

The asker with his crescent-like smile,

Did its aroma exhale ambergris or camphor?

وَسَل البراعَةَ في أَنامِلِ كَفّهِ

شذراً يَصُوغُ بطِرسِهِ أَم جَوهَرا

And did he seek skill in his fingers

To fashion a jewel or essence sublime?

أَم حالَت القِرطاسُ كافُوراً بِهَا

فَسَرَت تَمجّ عَلَيهِ مِسكاً أَذفَرا

Or did the parchment turn to camphor near him,

Exhaling musk over his fragrant robes?

أَم صَدرُ غانِيةٍ تَمَزَّقَ جَيبُها

فَغَدَت تَحُوكُ الوَشي فيهِ مُصَوّرا

Or did the chest of a singing girl tear its pocket,

Embroidering patterns on the lining within?

وَلَعلَها رَأَتِ الوَشِيجَ لَدَى الوَغَى

فَحَكَت لِراحتِهِ الوَشيجَ الأَسمَرا

Perhaps she saw the dark lining by lamplight’s glow,

And stitched its likeness on the lining, dark as dates.

يا مَن تَخَايَلَ مِن كتابةِ أَخيلٍ

زَهراً تَدَرهَم نَورهُ وتدنَّرا

O you who pretended a script of excellence,

A blossom whose light fades slowly away!

هَلاّ حَسِبتَ بِهَا السَّماءَ صَحيفَةً

والليلَ حبراً والكَواكِبَ أَسطُرَا

Why not consider the sky as your scroll,

The night as your ink, the stars as your script?

قاضٍ أَتَى والحَقُّ غُصنٌ ذَابِلٌ

فَسَقاهُ ماءَ العَدلِ حَتَّى أَثمَرَا

A judge came when truth was a withered branch,

He watered it with justice till it bore fruit.