Juman

Of silver He fashioned you,
and the envious pearls dived down.

Then He sprinkled color in you —
from what sun, one wonders, does the moon drink? —
and set down in the garden two vines of it,
so in the universe there are four luminaries.

And color folded its shadow,
and the horizon showed bluish —
O blueness of the phantom, and your memory,
and your eyes, were their limit but the illusion of color.

And the ringing echo — he sent it forth
gliding through the windings of the river,
and behold, the tune of laughter is poetry,
and the blind man swaggers, mocking the deaf.

A treasure, and an overflow of riches:
the silversmith's hands race his eyes and his ears,
and should he scorn a fellow who loves gold,
that one guffaws at white threads of silver in the hair.

Of silver He fashioned you —
so glory, O Juman; and O blossoms, turn unbelievers.