1. Oh you, the inaccessible, lofty one,
Whose torn garments the messengers carry,

2. Who fills the days with might and attainment,
Before whom necks bend in awe and hope,

3. To him I send this address proceeding,
Though he would meet it only in alarm,

4. He crossed the wilds of the lands in raids
And the quarters of Nizar, stripping bare and mailed,

5. The red swords of Uqail bear death,
The white swords of Uqail drip poison distilled,

6. Without fear of the blow of keen blades,
Or avoidance of the hands of the tribes armed,

7. He saw the light tents of the foe as worthless,
Their guy-ropes useless, detached or still pegged,

8. He is fate, strong, that pounds the brave warriors
And twists the necks of tyrants, tough,

9. He defeated squadrons, though their steeds cavorted,
With troops of heroes, a flock scattered,

10. You see his past triumphs, the acts of a lifetime,
When he overcomes fate and the dealer of blows,

11. The brigands of earth came between me and him,
So alas for the pain of their bruising blows!

12. Circumstances I wished I were deaf to,
As the wooden lute ignores the discordant strains,

13. I was stubborn until I gave my soul relief,
And the mourner spoke only to relieve me,

14. That Abū Ḥassān's eyelids were stilled,
And the fires quenched in his land the day he left,

15. Dearer to my eyes than my eyes he was,
And closer to my heart than my heart's blood,

16. I conceal my agony within my ribs, and find
No relief for my heart since his sun set,

17. He left me like bliss leaving blissfully,
And bid me farewell like youth bidding adieu,

18. Suffering so overcame me it was as if I saw no calamity strike
Before your flank, or take you as spoils,

19. Your death has made tribulation seem small,
And lessened impending woes in my view,

20. If my soul does not cease its worries for you,
It will shed hot sighs and tears,

21. Oh, those who blame me today, have no more patience,
Fly away with the burdens of reproof or fall still!

22. Defiant you stood among swords and warriors,
And emptied the quivers on the day of alarm,

23. With a meadow in the enemy land your troops rested,
On hills of misfortune, dwelling and grazing,

24. When they reached the soft sands of al-Waqi'ah,
Together they roused terror with the waters,

25. If he rode an excellent steed you would think
The geldings champing their bits as they raced him,

26. You rode him until his neck groaned
And he snorted in the plain, dejected and miserable,

27. Among the people some took to the sands in flight,
Others extended to the far horizon, fleeing,

28. When they donned the Yemeni striped cloak and approached,
Dragging along the pleated robes,

29. You would think them black lions in the thickets,
Babylonian thoroughbreds, terrifying,

30. Cheeks like the surfaces of polished Indian swords
Striking flesh in the darkness mottled with wounds,

31. And the whitest of the family of Ma'ad brought up the rear,
A knight unlike the others, lofty and high ranking,

32. You would think his face the moon rising
When the people vie for precedence in the archway,

33. And if passion is stirred beneath his veil,
Behind the striped mask, watchful,

34. He would stand shaking his spear, while his knees quake,
And sit like a weaned child, listening,

35. Glowering at his ever-present anxiety,
Ardent for the chance that he planned,

36. A cross to bear from the striking of calamity,
As if charging a towering peak,

37. And how many like him shed tears copiously,
Their hearts melting until rent with grief,

38. When the people fall short of an opportunity,
Allowing access to the glory of great deeds,

39. You would see him stroking the youths' forelocks,
And the boys fawning in terror of calamity,

40. So where, builder of glory, is one to continue your work?
Where, guardian of glory, is one to tend what you tended?

41. In losing you, vision has lost its delight,
And hearts their only remedy,

42. The cloak of glory has unraveled since you went,
As if you never patched a shred of this earth,

43. If this community lost your support,
How amazing if it became glorious and strong!

44. For the ears may still hear the moaning of thirst,
And a nostril sense the fragrance of musk not sniffed,

45. And if a sword of Uqail is unsheathed, we find for it
Scabbards in the hands of the sword-polishers,

46. That water is not spent until the rain clouds pour,
Nor that root extracted until branches spread,

47. And if in time to come this stem is severed,
There remain the scabbards, jeweled and inset,

48. A neighbor to people brought to the abode of exile,
Who when wretched do not wail wretchedly,

49. Or seek new clothing to replace the worn,
Or rebuild a home decayed and ruined,

50. Slow are they to respond to those who call them together,
Deeming them mad if invited insistently,

51. Vaults in which the generous poured the fruit of their hearts,
And glory left its resting place within,

52. And the camel litters halted, their curtains bloodstained,
As the living singled out the prostrate fallen,

53. I wish you do not find someone to match your glory,
Or someone lofty to gather the heights after you,

54. The path of generosity was safe with you,
Then was overrun by villains and predators,

55. Alas for me for the family of al-Musayyab,
Full moons of glory, rising and shining!

56. They separated like the leaves of a parchment manuscript,
Its leather not leaving a patch or stitch,

57. They passed away after making a path to glory,
Taking the highest heavens as their route,

58. If they placed their feet upon it they ascended to the heights,
And if people walked it they were abased and vanquished,

59. They left no sword blade of sharp Shana' unscarred,
No bowstring of lofty 'Ali unleashed,

60. Their hands were stripped by the claws of death
Of bracelets, while nations from 'Aad to Tubba' looked on,

61. They left me no joy for my eyes,
Or provision, save tears held back,

62. Once the days' delight and joy,
Now the heart's wellspring of weeping and sorrow,

63. It is as if the settlement after them is Babylon,
Confusing the mind, ever wavering,

64. It has tremors in its pole and stele,
Turning the people's cowardice into elegies of mourning,

65. From it I drank like the thirsty one who meets
The stagnant water of a wayfaring cistern,

66. You quenched with copious rain from the clouds,
Not the mean sprinkling of the clouds,

67. Lightning whose flashing illuminated the sky,
Swaying, striking the horizon loftily,

68. Its sharpness in both horizons cutting,
Whenever it flashes it flares and subsides,

69. Encircling with the twist of flame,
Augmented in its driving force,

70. As if at the thunder's boom by evening
A maid braids the tresses of her mistress,

71. As if the weaver wove its brilliant finale
Displaying the width of the panels openly,

72. Until the youthfulness showed from its robes
As if tatters on the dunes, ripped apart,

73. It weighed down on that soil its tent pegs
And clamored over those graves, wailing,

74. So away with the sweet life after losing you,
I do not listen to the inviter or his call,

75. No regrets for fate if it brings despair,
No welcome to fate if it carries hope,

76. And if the living stumble after your death,
No sympathy for the fallen, or rebuke!