And Hura' passed by me, scattering with his feet

So I said: Will you not come and tell us the news truly

He said: What I conjured in the dream

Is the ugliest dream I have ever sent down

Umayya felt in his side

And fancied the son of God in his heart

So I came to him one night when weariness had overcome him

And behold, a bird crouched down beside him

And drew forth from his chest his heart

And Umayya cried out to me, calling: O Hura'

Loathing had sunk into it its black claws

And hurt and evil and pride clamored within it

So the living thing with which heaven had graced me was

Like an ember cast seething into a trough of water

Where is the majesty of contentment and the chastity of the strong

Virtues upon which rancor had draped its sash

In the stillness of the desert, the dust of his dreams

Of the worst that you have revealed in dream to mankind

It is nothing but a sowing without a sprout

The dream of Umayya ibn Abi al-Salt

A prophet's heart beating within him

And the summons of God upon his lips

And the swoon of the prophets came over his soul

And it cut open the ribs of his sides

And set it before his eyes

A lump of flesh I see, kneaded with blood

And all of it churned in a blind turmoil

I searched its depths for a gleam of solace

Sighing sorrow within it beneath the frost of hypocrisy

Where, oh where, is reason and bountiful mercy

And where the light of guidance, and where the hand of hope

They all flew off and were scattered like dust

If I were with my heart, I its third — say, O Hura'

And what is in me were in them — I would not be among the prophets

And he sank down, overcome, helpless

Then the bird uncovered his chest

Until, when Umayya arose

He found no blood and no wound

If the hearts of mankind and my heart were the same

Among the prophets

Umayya, with rancor in his resting-place

And return the heart to its place