With my own hands my love's chest I tattooed,
Likewise her wrists, with checkered patterns odd,
Blue as the collar of the gentle dove.
Their outlines did not clash, so deftly drawn,
Although without
galam
--my handiwork.
I drew them 'twixt her breasts, and on her wrists
I marked my name. Such is the sport of fate!
Now Sa'yd, always deep in love with thee,