These various dreams whirled about my mind
as suns and other stars in various patterns,
schemes the prophets attempt to interpret
despite the imperfections of their knowledge.
These brief dreams remind me of her eyes,
her hands, her lips, her thighs or her gaze
that reads through foreign scripts and has seen
my sufferings as if they were material.
But I am not the devoted, simple ascetic
meditating in the caves, remaining reluctant
to indulge in the desires of the physical;
yet I pretend to praise her in new ways,
ways no poet has been able to imagine
within their numberless illumined verses.
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