A friend sent me greetings today,

Saying, 'O result of your pen, the source of insight,'

After two years that fortune brought you back home,

Why do you not leave the house of the master?

I replied and said, 'Excuse me,'

For this way is not self-will or obstinacy.

My judge's agent lies in ambush along the way,

With a writ of accusation in his hand, like a mad snake.

That if I set foot outside the threshold of the master,

He will seize me and take me to prison in disgrace.

The presence of the master is my fortress here,

Should anyone dare to demand proof.

With the strength of the arms of the minister's servants,

I would split his troubled mind with a slap.

May the world always be according to his wishes and with sincerity,

The azure sky has girded its loins in his service.