1. The sea fell silent, and the banks overflowed with tenderness,
The pebbles and palms rustled and waved.

2. The waves unraveled their ties, clinging to one another like chains,
And the coves closed, their crevices shaded by gazelles' eyes or ostrich eyes.

3. Dusk wrapped itself in a new veil of darkness,
Except what slipped out before it of glimmers,

4. Except the charms that flowed out like enchanting sorceresses,
And what the tails of twilights drew along.

5. And what the dawn carried of yearning for the morning
Among the tender leaves, the most aromatic missives.

6. Silence settled, and doves nested,
And bulbuls alighted on the branches to trill.

7. The smile of hope yawned, and ambitions receded,
And languor seeped into the veins of aspirations.

8. Colors mingled confusedly, unlike
What they seemed, or resembling problems.

9. As if the world displayed its characters
Clearly by day, but now changed them to riddles.

10. Visions the jinn allow themselves in their madness,
Destroying what humans built of temples.

11. The sea fell silent, lest its banks
Echo back the few, exhausted tremors,

12. And so it would seem strangely still,
And estranged from itself, completely perplexed.

13. Gloom prolonged upon it as Dhahak from the east
Lay in wait, and there remained only

14. A leap of desperate strength, like a lame man
Bearing a load beyond his capacity.

15. Farewell to wandering hostage to dreary exile
And an absent soul in vigilant confinement!

16. The quarter emptied of familiar open space
And its playgrounds were vacant of children’s shouts.

17. The echoes died in it, and the maidens' cries
Fled back swift as frightened mares.

18. Sands "of the swimming hole" dried, having wet
Lips thirsty from the "torment" of springs.

19. The "water-wheel's" grove wailed abandoned, and the houses
Of prosperous "Ghid" folded up their dwellings.

20. The sea fell silent, and the year's trinkets danced,
So the gems would allure the eyes of goblets.

21. It swelled with specters rising up toward it
On late comers from generous heavens,

22. When the wind shook and tousled it,
And threads of light like braids ran through it,

23. And its surges flashed with dormant "lightning"
And its currents dammed with laden clouds.

24. You'd think it a trellis of vine tendrils
And a threshing floor of fields of grain stalks.

25. You'd think the stars were a fowler's catch
Spreading his nets and snares.

26. Take a deep breath, O Sheikh, whom no long course
Has wearied of the embrace of beaches and streams.

27. Whom confusion has not made forget his might,
Overlooking nations above him and tribes.

28. O pearl of the world conversing with its caravan,
Bearing the secrets of ancient times.

29. Is there an age you saw pass without being
A martyr to its weddings and misfortunes?

30. Is there a dawn that shone but through you
The light of sages, legends' inspiration, and wonders?

31. Was there a fire lit for war that did not stir
Your flames seething with enmity like furnaces?

32. The tyrants' armadas assaulted you, and their whales
Battered your arches, Nabil's bows.

33. You let them pass, horde after horde,
And their dust returned you, armed and battle-ready.

34. They passed you angry as if their meddling
Were wounds from the fiery sword, bare and deadly.

35. O immortal, the fixtures of his face trembled
With the implication of never-ending death,

36. And with the ominous notion of a cursed world
That terrifies him with imminent and final fear.

37. I worshiped you as a Sufi whose conscience
Was steeped in the centuries' initiations,

38. And I imagined you as a temple, long complaining
Of the smoke from its censers.

39. I confided in you as a monk inclines
To whispered inspirations from above.

40. I colored my dreams with what colored
Your songs of a world made magic by your spell.

41. My lyre sang you—my tune did not weary you,
Nor did my melody burden you.

42. The mothers of rhyme bear witness—my cups
Were too busy with you. You occupied me!

43. My friend! Let not my eyes be devoid
Of your charm, of your present self.

44. Do not forget me, a soul that swooned for you
In youth, and longed for you in maturity’s remains.

45. A passion never tiring, how my heart fluttered
With its whims, straight and bending!

46. A mirage’s tempest, its sands still battling
Without gain.

47. My embarrasser in my pretensions’ excess,
My leaning, my aspiring to noble traits—

48. You shake away delusions of grandeur, you don
before you like the humble, lowly ones.

49. Aspirations frighten it, between the ambitions
of a giant jinn, and hopes of a transient human.

50. It sees you smiling—the midwives have no laughter,
Nor do the eyes of mourners shed a tear.

51. It sees you shining—the weather has no clouds
Darkening you, nor do suns set on your light.

52. Awe-inspiring, generous, extending your arm
To be worshipped wherever paths meander.

53. And leaning toward the humble slave girls who disappear
Under the weight of their burdens.

54. The sea fell silent but for a brooding sail
Circling the dark's silence like a prowler,

55. And the fluttering lamps as if my imaginings
Infiltrated them with promise and flirtation—

56. Winking at me, marveling that someone stays awake,
Granting absentmindedness the edge for courtship,

57. On the furthest bank as if their murmur
Reached the nearest shore by gradual transmission,

58. Features of an obscure world, mysteries,
So for those who fathom them they are ignorant.

59. How small is the world in the ignorance of one coast
For the repulsion and contradiction of coasts!

60. The sea fell silent, and the land split open for anxieties
Maturing in the shadow's barren thickets,

61. While my springs withered, heedless
Of rights I supported their crops, or in vain.

62. I say I will sing them, but my ears rebel;
I count their plains, but my fingers recoil.

63. I try to relieve them, but my consciousness turns
To hell, and my sleep is like the slash of sickles.

64. They grow uglier when I treat their ugliness
With deceitful excuses that miss the target.

65. In such a land, should I name its worst
The mother of tragedies, or the mother of sins?