O cunning and aged sky, marvel at your ruthless plunder; neither the sword nor even the waist of mighty kings like Khusraw and Kaiqubad remains.
The poet addresses time—or destiny—as a cunning, aged chess master who quietly robs everyone of their glory. Think of legendary, seemingly invincible emperors like Khusraw and Kaiqubad; time's relentless thievery erased not just their mighty swords, but the very waists that once bore them. It is a striking and poignant reminder of impermanence, showing that no matter how supreme our worldly power, destiny eventually wipes the entire board clean.
Interpretation note: meanings and explanations may be AI-assisted and should not replace a primary text or scholarly edition. See the editorial policy.
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