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 laugh

And its stars

Greatens their brilliance

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 matters

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 become

An A

And a B.