These Western nymphs, a challenge to the eye and the heart; are bold of glance in a paradise of instant bliss.

Thy heart is a wavering ship tossed by beauty’s assault; these moons and stars that glisten, are whirlpools in thy sea.

The warblings of the harp and lyre have wondrous powers; powers that cannot be captured in the world of sound.

By teaching him the monastic wont and way; the Sufi has led astray the jurist of the town.

The prostration that once shook the earth’s soul; now leaves not a trace on the mosque’s decadent walls.

I have not heard in the Arab world the thunderous call; the call to prayer that pierced the hearts of hills in the past.

O Qartaba! Perhaps, some magic in thy air has breathed into my song the buoyancy of youth.