I am your disciple, for all that I am stupid and twisted of mouth, so that I may learn one smile from your smiling lip.
Fountain of learning, do you want me for a pupil? What device shall I invent to stitch myself to you?
At least I may descry through the crack of the door the lightning of your cheek; from that fire of the portico I will kindle a hundred candles.
One instant you rob me of my load on the way, saying, “I am the tithe-collector”; one instant you go before me, meaning, “I am the guide.”
Now you drive me to sin, now towards repentance; twist my head and my tail, for I am a compressed hamza.
In sin and in penitence, like a fish on the pan, this side and that side I am burning on the pan.
On your pan I am turning this way and that; in the darkness of night, with you I am brighter than day.
Enough, I am all diversified in craft and thought; for one instant like turquoise, for one instant like P¯ır¯uz.
