جِهَادُa struggle against هَوىًpassion لَكِنْbut بِغَيْرِيwith someone other than me ثَوَابيmy reward
جِهَادُ هَوىً لَكِنْ بِغَيْرِي ثَوَابي
وَشَكْوَىand a complaint of جَوىًburning heartache لَكِنْbut بِغَيْرِيwith someone other than me جَوَابِيmy answer
وَشَكْوَى جَوىً لَكِنْ بِغَيْرِي جَوَابِي
A struggle with passion, yet my reward goes to another;
A complaint of heartache, yet my answer goes to another.
وَعُمْرٍand a lifetime تولىthat passed فيin لَعَلَّperhaps وَفيand in عَسىmaybe
وَعُمْرٍ تولى في لَعَلَّ وَفي عَسى
وَدَهْرٍand an age تَقَضَّىthat elapsed فِيin نَوىseparation وَعِتَابِand reproach
وَدَهْرٍ تَقَضَّى فِي نَوى وَعِتَابِ
And a lifetime passed in “perhaps” and “maybe,”
And an age spent in separation and reproach.
أَمَاhas it not آنَbecome time لِلْمُنْبَتِّfor the stranded traveler فِيin سُبُلِthe paths of الْهَوَىlove
أَمَا آنَ لِلْمُنْبَتِّ فِي سُبُلِ الْهَوَى
بِأَنْto يَهْتَدِيfind his way يَوْماًone day سَبِيلَa path of صَوَابِright guidance
بِأَنْ يَهْتَدِي يَوْماً سَبِيلَ صَوَابِ
Has the time not come for one stranded on love’s paths
To find, one day, a path of right guidance?
تَأَمَّلْتُهَاI pondered them خَلْفِيbehind me مَرَاحِلstages جُبْتُهَاI traversed them
تَأَمَّلْتُهَا خَلْفِي مَرَاحِل جُبْتُهَا
يُنَاهِزُapproaches فِيهَاin them الأَرْبِعيِنَforty حِسَابِيmy reckoning
يُنَاهِزُ فِيهَا الأَرْبِعيِنَ حِسَابِي
I looked back on them—the stages I had traversed—
My count of years in them approaches forty.
جَرَىran بِيَwith me طِرْفُthe steed of اللَّهْوِpleasure حَتَّىuntil شَكَاit complained of الْوَجَىsore hooves
جَرَى بِيَ طِرْفُ اللَّهْوِ حَتَّى شَكَا الْوَجَى
وَأَقْفَرَand became empty مِنْof زَادِthe provisions of النَّشَاطِvigor جِرَابِيmy bag
وَأَقْفَرَ مِنْ زَادِ النَّشَاطِ جِرَابِي
The steed of pleasure bore me on until its hooves grew sore,
And my bag was emptied of the provisions of vigor.
وَمَاand not حَصَلَتْgained نَفْسيmy soul عَلَيْهَاfrom it بِطَائِلٍanything worthwhile
وَمَا حَصَلَتْ نَفْسي عَلَيْهَا بِطَائِلٍ
وَلاَnor ظَفِرَتْattained كَفِّيmy hand ببَعْضِsome of طِلاَبِwhat was sought
وَلاَ ظَفِرَتْ كَفِّي ببَعْضِ طِلاَبِ
Yet my soul won nothing worthwhile from it,
Nor did my hand attain even part of what I sought.
نَصِيبِيَmy share مِنْهَاof it حَسَرةٌregret كَوْنُهَاthe fact that it مَضَتْpassed
نَصِيبِيَ مِنْهَا حَسَرةٌ كَوْنُهَا مَضَتْ
بِغَيْرِwithout زَكَاةٍobligatory alms وَهْيَthough it is مِثْلُlike نِصَابِa sum liable to alms
بِغَيْرِ زَكَاةٍ وَهْيَ مِثْلُ نِصَابِ
My share of it is grief that it has passed
Without alms, though it was like a sum on which alms are due.
وَمَاand nothing رَاعَنِيfrightened me وَالدَّهْرُthough Time رَبُّis lord of وَقَائِعٍbattles
وَمَا رَاعَنِي وَالدَّهْرُ رَبُّ وَقَائِعٍ
سِجَالٍof alternating fortune عَلَىagainst أَبْنَائِهِits children وَغِلاَبِand contests
سِجَالٍ عَلَى أَبْنَائِهِ وَغِلاَبِ
Nothing frightened me—though Time is lord of battles
Of shifting fortune against its children, and of contests—
سِوَىexcept شَعَرَاتٍa few hairs لُحْنَthey gleamed مِنْfrom فَوْقِabove مَفْرَقِيmy hair-parting
سِوَى شَعَرَاتٍ لُحْنَ مِنْ فَوْقِ مَفْرَقِي
قَذَقْنَthey hurled لِشَيْطَانِat the demon of الصَّبَاyouthful passion بِشِهَابِa shooting star
قَذَقْنَ لِشَيْطَانِ الصَّبَا بِشِهَابِ
Except a few hairs gleaming above my parting,
That hurled a shooting star at the demon of youthful passion.
أبَحْنَthey laid open ذِمَاريmy protected honor وَانْتَهَبْنَand they plundered شَبِيبَتِيmy youth
أبَحْنَ ذِمَاري وَانْتَهَبْنَ شَبِيبَتِي
أَهْنَّare they نُصُولٌblades أَمْor فُصًولُsections of خِضابِdye
أَهْنَّ نُصُولٌ أَمْ فُصًولُ خِضابِ
They laid my honor open and plundered my youth:
Are they blades, or streaks of dye?
وَقَدْand indeed كُنْتُI once was يَهْوَىwould love الرَّوْضُthe garden نشرthe fragrance of شَمَائِليmy qualities
وَقَدْ كُنْتُ يَهْوَى الرَّوْضُ نشر شَمَائِلي
وَيَمْرَحُand frolics غُصْنُa bough of الْبَانِthe ban-tree طَيَّwithin the folds of ثِيَابِيmy garments
وَيَمْرَحُ غُصْنُ الْبَانِ طَيَّ ثِيَابِي
Once the garden loved the fragrance of my qualities,
And a ban-tree bough frolicked within the folds of my clothes.
فَمُذْbut since كَتَبَwrote الْوَخْطُflecks of gray المُلِمُّsettling بِعارِضيon my cheek
فَمُذْ كَتَبَ الْوَخْطُ المُلِمُّ بِعارِضي
حروفاًletters أتىit conveyed فيهاin them بمحضnothing but عتابreproach
حروفاً أتى فيها بمحض عتاب
But since the gray that settled on my cheek wrote
Letters containing nothing but reproach,
نسختI abrogated بماwith what قدalready خطهit wrote it سُنَّةَthe custom of الْهَوَىlove
نسخت بما قد خطه سُنَّةَ الْهَوَى
وَكَمْand how many a سُنَّةٍcustom مَنْسُوخَةٍabrogated بِكِتَابِby a written text
وَكَمْ سُنَّةٍ مَنْسُوخَةٍ بِكِتَابِ
I abrogated love’s custom with what it had inscribed—
And how many a custom a written text abrogates!
سَلاَمٌpeace عَلَىupon تِلْكَthose الْمَعَاهِدِfamiliar haunts إِنَّهَاindeed they are
سَلاَمٌ عَلَى تِلْكَ الْمَعَاهِدِ إِنَّهَا
مَرَابِعُspring abodes of أُلاَّفِيmy dear ones وَعَهْدُand the memory of صِحَابِيmy companions
مَرَابِعُ أُلاَّفِي وَعَهْدُ صِحَابِي
Peace upon those haunts: they are
The spring abodes of my dear ones, the memory of my companions.
وَيَاand O آسَةَmyrtle of الْعَهْدِthose remembered days انْعَمِيflourish فَلَطَالَمَاfor how often
وَيَا آسَةَ الْعَهْدِ انْعَمِي فَلَطَالَمَا
سَكبْتُI poured عَلَىupon مَثْوَاكِyour dwelling مَاءَthe water of شَبَابِيmy youth
سَكبْتُ عَلَى مَثْوَاكِ مَاءَ شَبَابِي
O myrtle of those days, flourish! How often
I poured upon your dwelling the water of my youth.
كَأَنَّيas though I بِذَاتِat Dhat الضَّالِal-Dal تَعْجَبُshe marvels مِنْat فَتَىa youth
كَأَنَّي بِذَاتِ الضَّالِ تَعْجَبُ مِنْ فَتَى
تَذَكَّرَhe remembered فِيهَاin it اللَّهْوَpleasure بَعْدَafter ذَهَابِdeparture
تَذَكَّرَ فِيهَا اللَّهْوَ بَعْدَ ذَهَابِ
I fancy Dhat al-Dal marveling at a youth
Who remembered pleasure there after its passing.
تَقُولُshe says أَذِكْرِىis it remembrance of me? بَعْدَمَاafter بَانَdeparted جِيرَتِيmy neighbors
تَقُولُ أَذِكْرِى بَعْدَمَا بَانَ جِيرَتِي
وَصَوَّحَand withered رَوْضِيmy garden وَاقْشَعَرَّand grew bleak جَنَابِيmy precincts
وَصَوَّحَ رَوْضِي وَاقْشَعَرَّ جَنَابِي
She says: “Do you remember me, now my neighbors have gone,
My garden has withered, and my precincts have grown bleak,
وَأصْبَحْتُand I have become مِنْfrom بَعْدِafter الأَوَانِسِthe lovely maidens كَالدُّمَىlike statues
وَأصْبَحْتُ مِنْ بَعْدِ الأَوَانِسِ كَالدُّمَى
يَهُولُterrifies حُدَاةَthe drivers of الْعِيسِpale camels جَوْبُcrossing يَبَابِيmy wasteland
يَهُولُ حُدَاةَ الْعِيسِ جَوْبُ يَبَابِي
And I have become, after maidens lovely as statues,
A waste whose crossing terrifies the drivers of pale camels?
تَغَارُare jealous الرِّيَاحُthe winds السَّافِيَاتُsand-scattering بطَارِفِيof my visitor
تَغَارُ الرِّيَاحُ السَّافِيَاتُ بطَارِفِي
فَمَاso not إِنْat all تَرِيمُdo they cease الرَّكْضَracing حَولَaround هِضَابِيmy hills
فَمَا إِنْ تَرِيمُ الرَّكْضَ حَولَ هِضَابِي
The sand-scattering winds are jealous of whoever visits me,
And never cease their racing round my hills.
فَإِنْand if سَجَعَchant الرُّكْبَانُthe riders فِيَّabout me بِمِدْحَةٍwith praise
فَإِنْ سَجَعَ الرُّكْبَانُ فِيَّ بِمِدْحَةٍ
حَثَتْthey flung فيinto وُجُوهِthe faces of الْمَادِحِينَthe praisers تُرَابِيmy dust
حَثَتْ في وُجُوهِ الْمَادِحِينَ تُرَابِي
If riders chant a song in praise of me,
They fling my dust into the praisers’ faces.”
أَلَمْdid not تَعْلَمُواyou know أَنَّthat الْوَفَاءَfaithfulness سَجَّيتِيmy nature
أَلَمْ تَعْلَمُوا أَنَّ الْوَفَاءَ سَجَّيتِي
إِذَاwhen شَحَطتْgrew distant دَارِيmy home وَشَطَّand journeyed far رِكَابِيmy riding camels
إِذَا شَحَطتْ دَارِي وَشَطَّ رِكَابِي
Did you not know that faithfulness is my nature,
When my home lies distant and my riding camels have journeyed far?
سَقَاكَmay it water you كَدَمْعِيlike my tears أَوor كَجُودِكَlike your bounty وَابِلٌa downpour
سَقَاكَ كَدَمْعِي أَو كَجُودِكَ وَابِلٌ
يُقَلِّدُit necklaces نَحْرَthe throat of الْحَوْضِthe pool دُرَّpearls of حَبَابِbubbles
يُقَلِّدُ نَحْرَ الْحَوْضِ دُرَّ حَبَابِ
May a downpour like my tears or your bounty water you,
Necklacing the pool’s throat with pearls of bubbles.
وَلاَand may never بَرِحَتْcease تَهْفُوit flutters لِمَعْهَدِكَtoward your haunt الصَّبَاthe east wind
وَلاَ بَرِحَتْ تَهْفُو لِمَعْهَدِكَ الصَّبَا
وَيَسْحَبُand trails فِيهِwithin it الْمُزْنُthe rainclouds فَضْلَthe trailing skirts of سَحَابِcloud
وَيَسْحَبُ فِيهِ الْمُزْنُ فَضْلَ سَحَابِ
May the east wind never cease to flutter toward your haunt,
And rainclouds trail their cloudy skirts there.
سِوَايَsomeone other than me يَرُوعُfrightens الدَّهْرُTime أَوْor يَسْتَفِزُّهُunsettles him
سِوَايَ يَرُوعُ الدَّهْرُ أَوْ يَسْتَفِزُّهُ
بِيَوْمِwith a day of فِرَاقٍparting أَوْor بِيوْمِwith a day of إِيَابِreturn
بِيَوْمِ فِرَاقٍ أَوْ بِيوْمِ إِيَابِ
It is another whom Time frightens or unsettles
With a day of parting or a day of return.
وَغَيْرِيَand someone other than me يَثْنِيturns الْحْرِصُgreed ثِنْيَthe bend of عِنَانِهِhis bridle
وَغَيْرِيَ يَثْنِي الْحْرِصُ ثِنْيَ عِنَانِهِ
إِلَىtoward نَيْلِobtaining رِفْدٍa gift وَالتِمَاسِand seeking ثَوَابِa reward
إِلَى نَيْلِ رِفْدٍ وَالتِمَاسِ ثَوَابِ
And it is another whose rein greed bends
Toward winning a gift and seeking a reward.
تَمَلَّأتُI filled myself بالدُّنْيَاwith the world الدَّنِيَّةِthe lowly خِبْرَةًin experience
تَمَلَّأتُ بالدُّنْيَا الدَّنِيَّةِ خِبْرَةً
فَأَعْظَمُso the greatest of مَاwhat بِالنَّاسِafflicts people أَيْسَرُthe easiest of مَاwhat بِيafflicts me
فَأَعْظَمُ مَا بِالنَّاسِ أَيْسَرُ مَا بِي
I have filled myself with experience of this lowly world;
So the gravest of others’ troubles is the lightest of mine.
وَأَيْقَنْتُand I became certain أنَّthat اللهَGod يَمْنَحُgrants to جَاهِداًone who strives
وَأَيْقَنْتُ أنَّ اللهَ يَمْنَحُ جَاهِداً
وَيَرْزُقُand provides for أَقْوَاماًpeoples بِغَيْرِwithout حِسَابِreckoning
وَيَرْزُقُ أَقْوَاماً بِغَيْرِ حِسَابِ
And I know for certain that God grants to the striver,
And provides for peoples without reckoning.
فَيَاذُلَّso alas for the abasement of أّذْنٍan ear همُّهَاwhose concern is إِذْنَthe permission of حَاجِبٍa doorkeeper
فَيَاذُلَّ أّذْنٍ همُّهَا إِذْنَ حَاجِبٍ
وَيَاand O هُونَthe humiliation of وَجْهٍa face خَلْفَbehind سُدَّةِthe threshold of بَابِa door
وَيَا هُونَ وَجْهٍ خَلْفَ سُدَّةِ بَابِ
O the abasement of an ear intent on a doorkeeper’s leave!
And the humiliation of a face behind a doorway’s threshold!
وَقَدْand indeed كَانَwas هَمِّيmy ambition أَنْthat تُعَانِيshould brave مطيّتيmy mount
وَقَدْ كَانَ هَمِّي أَنْ تُعَانِي مطيّتي
بِبَعْضِon some of نَبَاتِthe plants of النّيلِthe Nile خَوْضَcrossing عُبَابَsurging waters
بِبَعْضِ نَبَاتِ النّيلِ خَوْضَ عُبَابَ
My ambition had been that my mount should brave
A crossing of surging waters on some growth of the Nile;
وَأُضْحِيand I enter morning وَمِحْرَابُwith the prayer-niche of الدُّجَىdarkness مُتَهَجَّدِيmy place of night prayer
وَأُضْحِي وَمِحْرَابُ الدُّجَى مُتَهَجَّدِي
وَأَمْسِيand I enter evening وَمَاءُwith the water of الرَّافِديْنِthe Two Rivers شَرَابِيmy drink
وَأَمْسِي وَمَاءُ الرَّافِديْنِ شَرَابِي
And greet the morning, night’s prayer-niche my place of vigil,
And enter evening with the Two Rivers’ water as my drink.
وَتَضْحَكُand smile مِنْfrom بَغْدَادَBaghdad بيضُwhite قِبَابهاits domes
وَتَضْحَكُ مِنْ بَغْدَادَ بيضُ قِبَابها
إِذَاwhen مَاindeed تَرَاءَتْcame into view بِالسَّوَادِin al-Sawad قِبَابِيmy domed tents
إِذَا مَا تَرَاءَتْ بِالسَّوَادِ قِبَابِي
And from Baghdad its white domes would smile,
When my domed tents appeared in al-Sawad.
وَلَكِنْbut قَضَاءٌa decree يَغْلِبُovercomes الْعَزْمَresolve حُكْمُهُits rule
وَلَكِنْ قَضَاءٌ يَغْلِبُ الْعَزْمَ حُكْمُهُ
وَيَضْرِبُand sets مِنْfrom دُونِbefore الْحِجَاreason بِحجَابِa veil
وَيَضْرِبُ مِنْ دُونِ الْحِجَا بِحجَابِ
But there is a decree whose rule overcomes resolve,
And sets a veil in reason’s way.
يَقُولُونَthey say لِيto me حَتَّامَuntil when تَنْدُبُwill you lament فَائِتاًwhat is gone
يَقُولُونَ لِي حَتَّامَ تَنْدُبُ فَائِتاً
فَقُلْتُso I said وَحُسْنُand good keeping of الْعَهْدِa bond لَيْسَis not بِعَابِa fault
فَقُلْتُ وَحُسْنُ الْعَهْدِ لَيْسَ بِعَابِ
They ask me: “How long will you lament what is gone?”
I replied—for keeping faith is no disgrace—
إِذَاif أَنَاI لَمْdo not آسفْgrieve عَلَىover زَمَنٍa time مَضَىthat passed
إِذَا أَنَا لَمْ آسفْ عَلَى زَمَنٍ مَضَى
وَعَهْدٍand an era تَقَضَىthat elapsed فِيin صِباًyouth وَتَصَابِيand youthful dalliance
وَعَهْدٍ تَقَضَى فِي صِباً وَتَصَابِي
“If I do not grieve for a time gone by
And days spent in youth and youthful dalliance,
فَلاَthen may never نَظمَتْstring دُرَّthe pearls of الْقِريضِpoetry قَرِيحَتيmy poetic gift
فَلاَ نَظمَتْ دُرَّ الْقِريضِ قَرِيحَتي
وَلاَand may not كَانَتِbe الآدَابُthe literary arts أَكْبَرَthe greatest of دَابِيmy occupation
وَلاَ كَانَتِ الآدَابُ أَكْبَرَ دَابِي
Then may my gift never string the pearls of poetry,
Nor literature be my foremost pursuit.”
Sol 6.1