Today’s poem is brought to you by “late nights in the library” and “way too many liquid excitants”. 🙂 I suppose the effect I was going for was “translation of old love poem”, but I’ll leave it to you to tell me whether or not I managed to achieve it. (Also, apologies for the second scan – I do realise some of the writing has been cut short, but I’m afraid this will have to do for the moment, seeing that I’m also giving the full transcription of the poem.)
Scheherezade
My love, these hands are blind
to all but the courage of your beauty.
They cannot work without having touched your patience,
they cannot feel unless you lend them feeling.
These feet, they will not touch the ground until
your slippers will have blessed it with their shadow,
and at night, my lamp shall not burn
until my forehead will have kissed your lap in humility.
Unworthy my lips to have tasted your name!
Encyclopaedia Vanitatum 