Classic Poem

The human clay forgot for a while that it was mere despicable clay, so it swaggered haughtily and boisterously.
Body covered with silk, it became proud; purse full of money, it grew arrogant.
Brother, don't turn your face away from me. I am not a piece of coal, nor are you a chip of a star.
You have not invented the silk you wear nor the necklace you sport.
You do not eat gold when hungry, nor do you drink strings of well-ordered pearls.
In your brocaded cloak, you are still like me in my tattered garments, experiencing happiness and misery.
In the light of day, you have hopes, and when darkness stretches over you, visions awaken.
My heart, like yours, sees similar beautiful dreams. It is not made of rock.
Are all my wishes dust and yours are golden?
Are my aspirations destined to vanish, and yours to stay for eternity?
O conceited one! If visited by illness, don't you complain, don't you sigh?
If your sweetheart abandons you and memory calls, don't you languish, don't you pine?
Are my tears vinegar and yours honey? Is my weeping humiliation, your moaning dominion?
Only one moon peers down on both of us, I say, on the hut as well as on the fort.
If it appears shining in your sight, I do not see it dark from my small window.
We both witness the stars as they disappear and glow;
In your wealth, you are not nearer to them, nor am I more distant with my poverty.
Is yours the well-guarded palace surrounded by sturdy walls?
Forbid the night, then, from pitching its tent over you and the clouds from gathering above your land.
Look how the light enters your palace without permission, why is it not expelled?
One bed is all you need, but do you know how many beds worms will make in you when you die?
You drove me away from your palace when the storm raged and the sky broke
While the dog was given shelter and food, and the cat equally well-treated.
Is yours the elegant garden with water, aloes, blossoms, and birds?
Prevent the wind, then, from shaking and twisting the garden trees,
Harness the water in the brook and command its stillness unless you are watching.
The birds in the trees don't care whether it is you or I who listen when they sing.
The flowers do not mock my poverty, nor do they flatter your wealth.
Do you think the river is yours? It is rather the gentle breeze's path and the birds' drinking place;
It is the stars' to bathe in, to cool themselves on summer nights.
You claim it is yours: does it run at your behest in the veins of trees, does it ripple when you speak?
Before you came, it was, and it will remain ebbing and flowing on the earth after you go.
Do you think you are handsome? You are not as resplendent as the rose, nor as generous.
Do you think you are strong, while the mosquito feeds on your cheeks ignoring the sword in your hand?
Are you powerful? Then command sleep as it overcomes you to withdraw from your eyelids at night;
Forbid gray hair to assail your temples, order youthfulness to linger in your skin.
O human clay, you are not purer or more sublime than the soil on which you tread and sleep.
The high palace you built will collapse, the garment you wove will unravel.
Let not your heart be a dwelling-place for hostility; mine has become a temple of love.
And I am more worthy of your love than the clothing that wears out or wealth that is exhaustible.