Someone called a dark-skinned person ugly

He responded with a reply that left him astonished

I did not create my own face

That you count my flaws as my wrongdoing

What concern is it to you if I am ugly?

Isn't it the painter who makes beauty and ugliness?

I am as you wrote on my head beforehand

O servant-nurturer, I did neither less nor more

You know well that I have no power

You are the absolute powerful one, who am I?

If you guide me, I reach goodness

And if you mislead me, I am lost in wandering

If the Creator of the world does not help

How can a servant practice piety?

How beautifully said the short-handed dervish

Who repented at night and broke it by dawn

If He accepts repentance, it remains true

For our covenant is unstable and weak

For Your sake, close my eyes to falsehood

By Your light, do not burn me in the fire tomorrow

From my poverty, my face fell into the dust

The dust of my sins ascended to the heavens

O cloud of mercy, rain down once

For dust does not last before the rain

Due to my sin, there is no place for me in this kingdom

But there is no other kingdom to go

You know the inner thoughts of the silent

You place the balm on the hearts of the broken