ألا تلك عرسي أم سكن تنكرت — أبو الأسود الدؤلي

أَلا تِلكَ عِرسي أُمُّ سَكنٍ تَنَكَّرَت

خَلائِقُها لي والخُطوبُ تَقَلَّبُ

Lo, my wife there, Umm Sakan, has changed

her ways toward me—and misfortunes keep turning.

تَعَرَّضُ أَحياناً وَأَزعُمُ أَنَّها

تُحَوِّطُ أَمراً عِندَهُ تَتَقرَّبُ

She makes hints at times, and I suppose that she

is carefully tending some matter through which she seeks favor.

فَقُلتُ لَها لا تَعجَلي كُلُّ كُربَةٍ

سَتَمضي وَلَو دامَت قَليلاً فَتَذهَبُ

So I said to her, “Do not be hasty: every distress

will pass; even if it lasts a little, it will go.”

فَإِمّا تَرَيني لا أَريمُكِ قاعِداً

لَدى البابِ لا أَغزو وَلا أَتَغَيَّبُ

If, then, you see me sitting, not leaving you,

at the door, neither raiding nor going away,

فَإِنَّكِ لا تَدرينَ أَن رُبَّ سَربَخٍ

دِقاقُ الحَصى مِنهُ رِمالٌ وَسَبسَبُ

then you do not know how many a vast waste,

with fine pebbles, sands, and level open ground,

أَقَمتُ الهَدى فيهِ إِذا المَرءُ غَمَّهُ

سَقيطُ النَدى وَالدّاخِنُ المُتَحَلِّبُ

I kept a true course through, when a man was oppressed

by falling dew and dripping, smoke-dark mist,

إِلى أَن بَدا فَجرُ الصَباحِ وَنَجمُهُ

وَزالَ سَوادُ اللَيلِ عَمّا يُغَيِّبُ

until morning's dawn and its star appeared,

and night's blackness lifted from what it concealed.

وَصَحراءَ سِختيتٍ يَحارُ بِها القَطا

وَيرتَدُّ فيها الطَرفُ أَو يَتَقَضَّبُ

And a hard, barren desert, where sandgrouse lose their way

and the gaze recoils or is cut short,

قطعتُ إِذا كانَ السَرابُ كَأَنَّهُ

سَحابٌ عَلى أَعجازِهِ مُتَنَصِّبُ

I crossed when the mirage seemed

a cloud standing upright on its hindquarters,

عَلى ذاتِ لَوثٍ تَجعَلُ الوَضعَ مَشيَها

كَما انقَضَّ عَيرُ الصَخرَةِ المُتَرَقِّبُ

riding a sturdy she-camel that makes a swift trot her walking pace,

like the watchful wild ass of the rock darting down.

تَراها إِذا ما استَحمَلَ القَومُ بَعضَهُم

عَلَيها مَتاعٌ لِلرَّديقِ وَمَركِبُ

You see her, when the men ask their fellows for a mount,

with baggage for the rear rider upon her, and a place to ride.

وَتُصبِحُ عَن غَبِّ السُرى وَكَأَنَّها

إِذا ضُرِبَ الأَقصى مِنَ الرَّكبِ تُضرَبُ

And after a night's travel, in the morning she seems as though

when the farthest in the caravan is struck, she herself were struck.

كَأَنَّ لَها رَأماً تَراهُ أَمامَها

مَدى العَينِ تُستَهوى إِلَيهِ وَتَذهَبُ

As though she had a calf she saw before her,

as far as the eye reaches, toward which she is drawn and goes.

وَخَلٍّ مَخُوفٍ بَينَ ضِرسٍ وَغابَةٍ

أَلَفَّ مَضيقٍ لَيسَ عَنهُ مُجَنَّبُ

And a feared passage between a rocky crag and a thicket,

tangled and narrow, with no way around it,

كَأَنَّ مَصاماتِ الأُسودِ بِبَطنِهِ

مَراغٌ وَآثارُ الأَراجيلِ ملعَبُ

as though the lions' lairs in its depths

were wallowing grounds, and men's footprints a playground,

سَلَكتُ إِذا ما جَنَّ ثَغَر طَريقِهِ

أَغَمُّ دَجوجيٌّ مِنَ اللَيلِ غَيهَبُ

I traversed when the mouth of its path was shrouded

by dense, pitch-dark, impenetrable night,

بِذي هَبَراتٍ أَو بِأَبيَضَ مُرهَفٍ

سَقاهُ السِمامَ الهِندِكيُّ المُخَرَّبُ

with a muscular companion, or a white, keen-edged sword,

which the pierced-eared Indian had steeped in poison.

تَجاوَزتُهُ يَمشي بِرُكنيَ مِخشَفٌ

كَسيدِ الفِضا سِر بالُهُ مُتَجَوِّبُ

I passed through it with a fearless night-roamer walking at my side,

like a wolf of the open waste, his cloak torn through.

كَريمٌ حَليمٌ لا يُخافُ أَذاتُهُ

وَلا جَهلُهُ فيما يَجِدُّ وَيَلعَبُ

Noble and forbearing, whose harm is not feared,

nor his rashness, in earnest or in play.

إِذا قُلتُ قَد أَغضَبتُهُ عادَ وُدُّهُ

كَما عادَ وُدُّ الرَيَّةِ المُتَثَوِّبُ

Whenever I said, “I have angered him,” his affection returned,

as al-Rayya's ever-returning love returned.

وَكانَ إِذا ما يَلتَقي القَومَ قَرنُهُ

كَمَا عَادَ وُدُّ الرَّيَّةِ المُتَثَوِّبُ

And when his opponent met the men, he would be—

as al-Rayya's ever-returning love returned.