Poetry, like Joseph, draws a written veil across its face,
Poetry speaks from behind the shawl of its own intrigue.
My beloved would know my plight if he read my verse,
He would sense my pain if he heard my cries.

Poetry, like the brow of my beloved, it is a sea of beauty,
Fitting for those of vision to reflect upon.

Poetry, like Mount Sinai of Moses, has witnessed the divine,
Struck by his figure, it shattered into shards.

Poetry uncovers the cravings of an aggrieved people,
For the foolish lover, my book of verse is a vow of maddened love.

Poetry is revealed in the realm of truth,
Each line invokes a voice of an unseen world.

Ardent like the roses, Yahya, I am too immersed
When I recite verses about his well-formed physique.