Every sin that I was not a stone

       and if they, sons of worldly matters [are] for me insomnia

And if for me there is a benefit of letters armed

       its style whenever the way/route is distant for me

And for me poetry is a valise I continued to carry. 

       In which is some earth, the taste of the earth and fragrance

And in it clusters of branches of petulance

       In it the palm branches with their bunches of dates

She painted all the tales of love in my language

       Her colours are the spectrum: both grape and twilight

And I said: Bring of the strings the most beautiful

       To know how the universe melody proceeds

To play the melody sounded soporifically

       To do justice to the pen bereft of the one who adored

Worldly affairs are a guide of the letters/characters very grave

       Feather and ink drained concern

Feather and ink drained concern

       Longing lovers read out and burn