لِمَن دِمنٌ كَأَنَّهُنَّ صَحائِفُ

لِمَن دِمنٌ كَأَنَّهُنَّ صَحائِفُ

قِفارٌ خَلا مِنها الكَثيبُ فَواحِفُ

قِفارٌ خَلا مِنها الكَثيبُ فَواحِفُ

Whose are these camp ruins, like written pages,

For whom are loins like scrolls

desolate—al-Kathib, then Wahif, lying empty?

Deserted plains devoid of dunes and hills

فَما أَحدَثَت فيها العُهودُ كَأَنَّما

فَما أَحدَثَت فيها العُهودُ كَأَنَّما

تَلَعَّبُ بِالسَمّانِ فيها الزَخارِفُ

تَلَعَّبُ بِالسَمّانِ فيها الزَخارِفُ

What the passing years have wrought there looks as though

Time has not worn them though seasons shift

ornate designs were playing there at al-Samman.

As if a child plays on them with decorations

أَكَبَّ عَلَيها كاتِبٌ بِدَواتِهِ

أَكَبَّ عَلَيها كاتِبٌ بِدَواتِهِ

يُقيمُ يَدَيهِ تارَةً وَيُخالِفُ

يُقيمُ يَدَيهِ تارَةً وَيُخالِفُ

A scribe bent over them with his inkpot,

A scribe set to work there with his tools

steadying his hands at times and changing their position.

Raising his hands at times, at others not

رَجا صُنعَهُ ما كانَ يَصنَعُ ساجِياً

رَجا صُنعَهُ ما كانَ يَصنَعُ ساجِياً

وَيَرفَعُ عَينَيهِ عَنِ الصُنعِ طارِفُ

وَيَرفَعُ عَينَيهِ عَنِ الصُنعِ طارِفُ

He hoped his work would succeed as he worked in stillness,

He hoped to mimic what a craftsman created

and lifted his eyes from the work, blinking.

Lifting his eyes from the work in disdain

وَشَوهاءَ لَم توشَم يَداها وَلَم تُذَل

وَشَوهاءَ لَم توشَم يَداها وَلَم تُذَل

فَقاظَت وَفيها بِالوَليدِ تَقاذُفُ

فَقاظَت وَفيها بِالوَليدِ تَقاذُفُ

And a broad-mouthed mare, her forelegs never branded, never subdued—

An ugly lass whose hands bear no henna nor shame

she spent the summer still tossing a young rider about.

Awakened, tossing with passion a newborn babe

وَتُعطيكَ قَبلَ السَوطِ مِلءَ عِنانِها

وَتُعطيكَ قَبلَ السَوطِ مِلءَ عِنانِها

وَإِحضارَ ظَبيٍ أَخطَأَتهُ المَجادِفُ

وَإِحضارَ ظَبيٍ أَخطَأَتهُ المَجادِفُ

And before the whip, she gives you the full stretch of her reins

She gives you before the whip her reins in full

and the swift run of a gazelle missed by broad-headed arrows.

And fetching a gazelle she had missed with arrows

بَلِلتُ بِها يَومَ الصُراخِ وَبَعضُهُم

بَلِلتُ بِها يَومَ الصُراخِ وَبَعضُهُم

يَخُبُّ بِهِ في الحَيِّ أَورَقُ شارِفُ

يَخُبُّ بِهِ في الحَيِّ أَورَقُ شارِفُ

With her I won through on the day of battle-cries, while some of them

I soaked them on the day of shouting while some

are carried at a trot among the tribe by an aged gray camel,

Hide in the valley, leaves of trees their cover

بِبَيضاءَ مِثلِ النَهيِ ريحَ وَمَدَّهُ

بِبَيضاءَ مِثلِ النَهيِ ريحَ وَمَدَّهُ

شابيبُ غَيثٍ يَحفِشُ الأُكمَ صائِفُ

شابيبُ غَيثٍ يَحفِشُ الأُكمَ صائِفُ

in white mail, like a wind-ruffled pool replenished by

With a white like prohibition, wind and its gusts

showers of summer rain that sweep the hillocks;

Billowing clouds hover, rain showers not cease

وَمُطَّرِدٍ يُرضيكَ عِندَ ذَواقِهِ

وَمُطَّرِدٍ يُرضيكَ عِندَ ذَواقِهِ

وَيَمضي وَلا يَنآدُ فيها يُصادِفُ

وَيَمضي وَلا يَنآدُ فيها يُصادِفُ

and a straight spear that pleases you when tested,

A herd to please you when it's culled

and passes through without bending in the mail it meets;

Moving on, none matching it could perceive

وَصَفراءُ مِن نَبعٍ سِلاحٌ أُعِدُّها

وَصَفراءُ مِن نَبعٍ سِلاحٌ أُعِدُّها

وَأَبيَضُ قَصّالِ الضَريبَةِ جائِفُ

وَأَبيَضُ قَصّالِ الضَريبَةِ جائِفُ

and a yellow bow of nabʿ wood, a weapon I keep ready,

A yellow from a spring, a weapon readied

and a white blade, cleaving its target and piercing deep:

And white hot iron brands for marking slaves

عَتادُ اِمرِئٍ في الحَربِ لا واهِنِ القُوى

عَتادُ اِمرِئٍ في الحَربِ لا واهِنِ القُوى

وَلا هُوَ عَمّا يَقدِرُ اللَهُ صارِفُ

وَلا هُوَ عَمّا يَقدِرُ اللَهُ صارِفُ

the equipment of a man whose strength does not fail in war,

The gear of a warrior in war not faint of heart

yet he cannot turn aside from what God decrees.

Nor is he heedless of what God destines

بِهِ أَشهَدُ الحَربَ العَوانَ إِذا بَدَت

بِهِ أَشهَدُ الحَربَ العَوانَ إِذا بَدَت

نَواجِذُها وَاِحمَرَّ مِنها الطَوائِفُ

نَواجِذُها وَاِحمَرَّ مِنها الطَوائِفُ

With it I enter the oft-renewed war, when it bares

With it I witness war when claws unleash

its molars and its flanks grow red,

And from it red squadrons take their leave

قِتالَ اِمرِئٍ قَد أَيقَنَ الدَهرَ أَنَّهُ

قِتالَ اِمرِئٍ قَد أَيقَنَ الدَهرَ أَنَّهُ

مِنَ المَوتِ لا ينَجو وَلا المَوتُ جانِفُ

مِنَ المَوتِ لا ينَجو وَلا المَوتُ جانِفُ

fighting as a man who has always been certain that he

The fighting of a man who knows fate

cannot escape death, nor will death turn aside.

That from death he'll not escape nor death refrain

وَلَو كُنتُ في غُمدانَ يَحرُسُ بابَهُ

وَلَو كُنتُ في غُمدانَ يَحرُسُ بابَهُ

أَراجيلُ أُحبوشٍ وَأَسودُ آلِفُ

أَراجيلُ أُحبوشٍ وَأَسودُ آلِفُ

Even if I were in Ghumdan, its gate guarded by

Were I in a scabbard whose door guarded

foot soldiers of a mixed band and tame lions,

The bells of Abyssinians and tame lions

إِذاً لَأَتَتني حَيثُ كُنتُ مَنِيَّتي

إِذاً لَأَتَتني حَيثُ كُنتُ مَنِيَّتي

يَخُبُّ بِها هادٍ لِإِثرِيَ قائِفُ

يَخُبُّ بِها هادٍ لِإِثرِيَ قائِفُ

my destined death would surely reach me wherever I was,

Then my demise would find me wherever I were

borne at a trot by a guide, a tracker following my trail.

Hiding from my track a guide with tidings

أَمِن حَذَرٍ آتي المَهالِكَ سادِراً

أَمِن حَذَرٍ آتي المَهالِكَ سادِراً

وَأَيَّةُ أَرضٍ لَيسَ فيها مَتالِفُ

وَأَيَّةُ أَرضٍ لَيسَ فيها مَتالِفُ

Is it out of fear that I enter deadly places heedlessly?

Do I recklessly court perils defiant

And what land has no places of death?

What land is without fellowship thriving?