A poor old woman, harassed and in pain
Came to Sanjar the Sultan to complain:
She said: "You have no justice, you offend,
Your club-law and your cruelty has no end.
Your drunken steward came to me, the lout,
Kicked, knocked me down, till he was tired out.
He seized me by the hair - an innocent old crone,
And dragged me, heeding neither cry nor moan.
A crowd flocked round, he swore at me, the brute,
Abused, reviled me, hard blows following suit.
He yelled: 'You hunch-backed hag, you'd better tell
Who killed a man quite near to where you dwell?'
He searched my house in hope of finding there
The murderer… O master, is that fair?
The reason was the steward's drunken state,
But why to torture me? O what a fate!
If subjects of the king ransack his land,
Can an old woman answer for the band?
The steward wished his false rights to assert -
Are not your justice and my honour hurt?
The blood flowed thickly from my wounded breast,
I have no strength to bear this cruel test.
O mighty Shah! I writhe with dreadful pain,
To God you'll answer should my cries be vain.
You have no mercy, you're unjust, unfair,
Your club-law is a torture, hard to bear.
A shah should grant his people bounty, grace,
Whilst you defile your honour with disgrace.
To rob poor orphans - that's no valiant deed,
I see the sequel to your acts, indeed!
Don't rob old crones that hunger they should bear,
And be restrained, at lest, by their grey hair!
You are no shah - a knave, and nothing more,
You cause great sorrows on our homes to pour.
If you but strove with love your land to bless,
Your subjects would rejoice of your caress.
They would respect and honour you, no end,
And would consider you're their greatest friend.
Your criminal acts created chaos here,
What valorous deed was yours, of conscience clear?
This state used to be famous for its might,
Its kings were praised for being just and right.
Now homes and hearths are ruined here by you,
The empty barns present a desolate view.
Recall the dreadful deaths you caused around,
Your turn will come! Yet you'll be safe and sound
If justice you adopt as guiding star;
Today is yours more than tomorrow, Shah!
Be kind and just to crones, infirm and old,
Attend to them, their words are more than gold.
Refrain from ruining homes of innocent folk,
They may take vengeance with a fatal stroke.
From your vile bow-strings swarms of arrows sped,
But starving men may rise and strike you dead!
This bear in mind: you are the key to peace,
Is mankind born disaster to increase?
You were made king to keep your folk from harm,
To treat their wounds with vivifying balm.
To what your subjects say, o Shah, give ear,
To what their hearts demand, give heed sincere.
No need for words!… Though taking Khorassan -
Your loss was great, when everything was done."

Of shame today remains not even a token,
Loyalty's done away with, vows are broken,
Justice and conscience to the winds we fling,
They've fled, found refuge under Phoenix wing!

O Muse, your poet's words now stop flood:
For Nizami has steeped his soul in blood!…

Translated by Olga Moisseyenko

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