Clarification To My Poetry-Readers

And of me say the fools:

I entered the lodges of women And never left.

And they call for my hanging,

Because about the matters of my beloved I, poetry, compose.

I never traded Like others In Hashish.

I never stole.

I never killed.

I, in broad day, have loved.

Have I sinned?

And of me say the fools:

With my poetry I violated the sky’s commands.

Said who Love is The honor-ravager of the sky?

The sky is my intimate.

It cries if I cry,

Laughs if I

And its stars Greatens their

If One day I fall in love.

What so If in the name of my beloved I chant,

And like a chestnut tree In every capital I, her, plant.

Fondness will remain my calling,

Like all prophets.

And infancy, innocence And purity.

I will write of my beloved’s

Till I melt her golden hair In the sky’s gold.

I am,  And I hope I change not,

A child Scribbling on the stars’ walls The way he pleases,

Till the worth of love  In my homeland Matches that of the air,

And to love dreamers I become A diction-ary,

And over their lips I

An A And a B.