الْمَقَامَةُ السَّمَرْقَنْدِيَّةُ

When I saw the sermon, a masterpiece without flaw.

Nigba tí mo rí ìwàásù náà, bí iṣẹ́ tí o yanjú tí kò ní àbùkù ní

And a bride without blemish.

Àti ìyàwó tí kò ní àbùkù.

Admiration for its wondrous style called me.

Ìfẹ́ sí àṣà rẹ̀ tí ó yàtọ̀ pe mí.

To uncover the face of the orator.

Láti ṣí ojú ẹni tí ó ń sọ̀rọ̀.

So I began to observe him intently.

Nítorí náà, mo bẹ̀rẹ̀ sí í wo ọ̀nà rẹ̀ pẹ̀lẹ́pẹ̀lẹ́.

And I turned my gaze upon him earnestly.

Tí mo n yí ojú mi sí i pẹ̀lẹ́pẹ̀lẹ́.

Until the signs became clear to me.

Títí tí àwọn àmì náà fi hàn kedere sí mi.

That he is our sheikh, the master of maqamat.

Pé ó jẹ́ Bàbá wa ní, olùkọ́ àwọn imọ makama.

And there was no choice but to remain silent.

Àti pé kò sí nkankan ayafi láti dúró ní ìdákẹ́jẹ́.

At that time.

Nígbà náà.