I am Yusuf, my father. My brothers do not love me,
Father, do not want me among them. They attack me,
pelting me with stones and words. They want me to
die, that they may say my eulogy. In my face they’ve
shut your door, and from the field they’ve driven me.
They’ve poisoned my grapes, Father. They’ve smashed
my playthings, Father. When the breeze blew and
ruffled my hair, jealous, they rose up against me, and
against you. But what have I done to them, Father?
Butterflies alighted on my shoulders, ears of grain
bent toward me, birds perched upon my hands. So
what have I done, Father? Why me? You named me
Yusuf, and they cast me into the well, but blamed the
wolf. The wolf is more merciful than my brothers…
oh, my father! Did I wrong anyone when I said that:
I saw eleven stars, saw the sun, and the moon, saw
them prostrate before me?

(Translated from the Arabic by Barbara Romaine)