He was the pride,
sometimes the envy, of the village:
no wealth of jewels, but
a set of gleaming tools.
When asked, he would tell:
I go to the Caliph,
explain what I need and why:
I seek precious things
from the One who does not withhold…
and those around the Caliph
said to him, why are you so generous
to that humble craftsman of fine things?
And why do you listen for so long, to his talk of work?
The Caliph said,
I seek precious things
From the One who does not withhold…
And would you ask me
what the Imam said when asked?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem