Selection from Dried Grass Among Anemones 

By Saadi Shirazi

The usher now approached respectfully
to place the judge’s turban on his head,
but the unkempt lawyer raised his hand and said, 
“Stop! Don’t bind my head with this crown of pride. 
I fear that beneath those five yards of cloth
my eyes will see those dressed as I am now
only down the long incline of my nose
and that when they greet me as My Lord Chief Justice, 
I will have come to hold them in contempt.
What difference does it make if drinking water
is poured in golden cups or cups of clay?
A man should fill his head with precious wisdom, 
not place a turban like yours on top of it.
The size of a man’s head won’t make him great; 
a pumpkin’s head is very big—and brainless. 

Don’t let a turban and a beard deceive you:
a turban is made of cotton; a beard is dry grass. 
We’re all drawn in the shape of human beings, 
and so, like drawings, we shouldn’t say a word. 
The measure of your virtue defines your place: 
Don’t be like Saturn, high and unlucky too.
The reed that we weave mats from may grow tall, 
but without a sugar-cane’s sweetness, the reed’s 
height means nothing. Intelligence like yours, 
along with your ambition, reduces you
to no one in my eyes—even if
a hundred slaves follow wherever you go. 

By Saadi Shirazi, translated by Richard Jeffrey Newman in Selections from Saadi’s Bustan

(Global Scholarly Publications, 2006)