ردوا علي الصبا من عصري الخالي — Mahmoud Samial Baroudi

رُدُّوا عَلَيَّ الصِّبَا مِنْ عَصْرِيَ الْخَالِي

وَهَلْ يَعُودُ سَوَادُ اللّمَّةِ الْبَالِي

Restore to me the youth of my bygone days.

And can the faded blackness of my locks return?

مَاضٍ مِنَ الْعَيْشِ مَا لاحَتْ مَخَايِلُهُ

فِي صَفْحَةِ الْفِكْرِ إِلا هَاجَ بَلْبَالِي

A stretch of life gone by—never do its images appear

On the page of thought without rousing my anguish.

سَلَتْ قُلُوبٌ فَقَرَّتْ في مَضَاجِعِهَا

بَعْدَ الْحَنِينِ وَقَلْبِي لَيْسَ بِالسَّالِي

Hearts found solace and rested in their beds

After longing, but my heart finds no solace.

لَمْ يَدْرِ مَنْ بَاتَ مَسْرُوراً بِلَذَّتِهِ

أَنِّي بِنَارِ الأَسَى مِنْ هَجْرِهِ صَالِي

The one who spent the night delighted in his pleasure did not know

That I burn in sorrow's fire from his abandonment.

يَا غَاضِبينَ عَليْنَا هَلْ إِلَى عِدَةٍ

بِالْوَصْلِ يَوْمٌ أُنَاغِي فِيهِ إِقْبَالِي

O you angry with us, is there hope of a promise

Of reunion—a day when I may commune with my good fortune?

غِبْتُمْ فَأَظْلَمَ يَوْمِي بَعْدَ فُرْقَتِكُمْ

وَسَاءَ صُنْعُ اللَّيَالِي بَعْدَ إِجْمَالِ

You vanished, and my day darkened after your departure;

And the nights' dealings grew cruel after kindness.

قَدْ كُنْتُ أَحْسَبُنِي مِنْكُمْ عَلَى ثِقَةٍ

حَتَّى مُنِيتُ بِمَا لَمْ يَجْرِ فِي بَالِي

I had thought myself secure with you,

Until I was afflicted with what never crossed my mind.

لَمْ أَجْنِ فِي الْحُبِّ ذَنْبَاً أَسْتَحِقُّ بِهِ

عَتْبَاً وَلَكِنَّهَا تَحْرِيفُ أَقْوَالِ

In love I committed no sin that deserved

Reproach; rather, it is the distortion of words.

وَمَنْ أَطَاعَ رُوَاةَ السُّوءِ نَفَّرَهُ

عَنِ الصَّدِيقِ سَمَاعُ الْقِيلِ وَالْقَالِ

And whoever heeds the tellers of evil is driven away

From his friend by listening to gossip and hearsay.

أَدْهَى الْمَصَائِبِ غَدْرٌ قَبْلَهُ ثِقَةٌ

وَأَقْبَحُ الظُّلْمِ صَدٌّ بَعْدَ إِقْبَالِ

The direst calamity is betrayal preceded by trust;

And the ugliest injustice is rejection after welcome.

لا عَيْبَ فِيَّ سِوَى حُرِّيَّةٍ مَلَكَتْ

أَعِنَّتِي عَنْ قَبُولِ الذُّلِّ بِالْمَالِ

I have no fault except a freedom that has held

My reins back from accepting humiliation for money.

تَبِعْتُ خُطَّةَ آبَائِي فَسِرْتُ بِهَا

عَلَى وَتِيرَةِ آدَابٍ وَآسَالِ

I followed my forefathers' path and walked along it,

Following a tradition of courtesy and spears.

فَمَا يَمُرُّ خَيَالُ الْغَدْرِ فِي خَلَدِي

وَلا تَلُوحُ سِمَاتُ الشَّرِّ فِي خَالِي

So no phantom of betrayal passes through my mind,

Nor do the marks of evil show in my character.

قَلْبِي سَلِيمٌ وَنَفْسِي حُرَّةٌ وَيَدِي

مَأْمُونَةٌ وَلِسَانِي غَيْرُ خَتَّالِ

My heart is sound, my soul is free, and my hand

Is trustworthy, and my tongue is not deceitful.

لَكِنَّنِي فِي زَمَانٍ عِشْتُ مُغْتَرِبَاً

فِي أَهْلِهِ حِينَ قَلَّتْ فِيهِ أَمْثَالِي

Yet I have lived in an age as a stranger

Among its people, when those like me grew few.

بَلَوْتُ دَهْرِي فَمَا أَحْمَدْتُ سِيرَتَهُ

فِي سَابِقٍ مِنْ لَيَالِيهِ وَلا تَالِي

I have tested my age and found no cause to praise its conduct,

In either its earlier nights or its later ones.

حَلَبْتُ شَطْرَيْهِ مِنْ يُسْرٍ وَمَعْسرَةٍ

وَذُقْتُ طَعْمَيْهِ مِنْ خِصْبٍ وَإِمْحَالِ

I have milked its two halves: ease and hardship,

And tasted both its flavors: abundance and drought.

فَمَا أَسِفْتُ لِبُؤْسٍ بَعْدَ مَقْدرَةٍ

وَلا فَرِحْتُ بِوَفْرٍ بَعْدَ إِقْلالِ

I did not grieve at misery after prosperity,

Nor rejoice in plenty after want.

عَفَافَةٌ نَزَّهَتْ نَفْسِي فَمَا عَلِقَتْ

بِلَوْثَةٍ مِنْ غُبَارِ الذَّمِّ أَذْيَالِي

Self-restraint purified my soul, so never clung

To my hems a stain from the dust of blame.

فَالْيَوْمَ لا رَسَنِي طَوْعُ الْقِيَادِ وَلا

قَلْبِي إِلَى زَهْرَةِ الدُّنْيَا بِمَيَّالِ

So today my halter does not yield to leading, nor

Does my heart incline to the bloom of this world.

لَمْ يَبْقَ لِي أَرَبٌ فِي الدَّهْرِ أَطْلُبُهُ

إِلا صَحَابَةُ حُرٍّ صَادِقِ الْخَالِ

No wish remains for me in this age to seek

Except the companionship of a free man of sincere character.

وَأَيْنَ أُدْرِكُ مَا أَبْغِيهِ مِنْ وَطَرٍ

وَالصِّدْقُ فِي الدَّهْرِ أَعْيَا كُلَّ مُحْتَالِ

And where can I attain the desire I seek,

When truth in this age has baffled every resourceful seeker?

لا فِي سَرَنْدِيبَ لِي إِلْفٌ أُجَاذِبُهُ

فَضْلَ الْحَدِيثِ وَلا خِلٌّ فَيَرْعَى لِي

In Sarandib I have no companion with whom to exchange

Pleasant conversation, nor a close friend to care for me.

أَبِيتُ مُنْفَرِدَاً فِي رَأْسِ شَاهِقَةٍ

مِثْلَ الْقَطَامِيِّ فَوْقَ الْمِرْبَإِ الْعَالِي

I spend the night alone atop a towering height,

Like a falcon on a lofty lookout.

إِذَا تَلَفَّتُّ لَمْ أُبْصِرْ سِوَى صُوَرٍ

فِي الذِّهْنِ يَرْسُمُهَا نَقَّاشُ آمَالِي

When I look around, I see nothing but images

In the mind, drawn by the painter of my hopes.

تَهْفُو بِيَ الرِّيحُ أَحْيَانَاً وَيَلْحَفُنِي

بَرْدُ الطِّلالِ بِبُرْدٍ مِنْهُ أَسْمَالِ

At times the wind tosses me, and I am cloaked

By the chill of drizzle in its own ragged mantle.

فَفِي السَّمَاءِ غُيُومٌ ذَاتُ أَرْوِقَةٍ

وَفِي الْفَضَاءِ سُيُولٌ ذَاتُ أَوْشَالِ

So in the sky are clouds with canopies,

And through the air are torrents with trickling streams.

كَأَنَّ قَوْسَ الْغَمَامِ الْغُرِّ قَنْطَرَةٌ

مَعْقُودَةٌ فَوْقَ طَامِي الْمَاءِ سَيَّالِ

As though the bow of the white clouds were a bridge

Arched above swelling, flowing water.

إِذَا الشُّعَاعُ تَرَاءَى خَلْفَهَا نَشَرَتْ

بَدَائِعَاً ذَاتَ أَلْوَانٍ وَأَشْكَالِ

When sunlight appears behind it, it unfolds

Marvels of colors and shapes.

فَلَوْ تَرَانِي وَبُرْدِي بِالنَّدَى لَثِقٌ

لَخِلْتَنِي فَرْخَ طَيْرٍ بَيْنَ أَدْغَالِ

So, if you saw me, my mantle soaked with dew,

You would think me a nestling amid thickets,

غَالَ الرَّدَى أَبَوَيْهِ فَهْوَ مُنْقَطِعٌ

فِي جَوْفِ غَيْنَاءَ لا رَاعٍ وَلا وَالِي

Whose parents death has snatched away, leaving it forsaken

Deep in a leafy thicket, with neither keeper nor guardian.

أُزَيْغِبَ الرَّأْسِ لَمْ يَبْدُ الشَّكِيرُ بِهِ

وَلَمْ يَصُنْ نَفْسَهُ مِنْ كَيْدِ مُغْتَالِ

Downy-headed, its new feathers not yet showing,

And it has not shielded itself from a predator's wiles.

كَأَنَّهُ كُرَةٌ مَلْسَاءُ مِنْ أَدَمٍ

خَفِيَّةُ الدَّرْزِ قَدْ عُلَّتْ بِجِرْيالِ

Like a smooth ball of leather,

Its seam hidden, soaked in crimson dye.

يَظَلُّ فِي نَصَبٍ حَرَّانَ مُرْتَقِباً

نَقْعَ الصَّدَى بَيْنَ أَسْحَارٍ وَآصَالِ

It remains weary, parched, awaiting

The quenching of thirst from predawn to evening.

يَكَادُ صَوْتُ الْبُزَاةِ الْقُمْرِ يَقْذِفُهُ

مِنْ وَكْرِهِ بَيْنَ هَابِي التُّرْبِ جَوَّالِ

The cry of the pale hawks almost flings it

From its nest amid drifting, swirling dust.

لا يَسْتَطِيعُ انْطِلاقاً مِنْ غَيَابَتِهِ

كَأَنَّمَا هُوَ مَعْقُولٌ بِعُقَّالِ

It cannot escape its dark recess,

As though it were bound with hobbles.

فَذَاكَ مِثْلِي وَلَمْ أَظْلِمْ وَرُبَّتَمَا

فَضَلْتُهُ بِجَوَى حُزْنٍ وَإِعْوَالِ

That is my likeness, without injustice; perhaps

I have surpassed it in burning grief and wailing.

شَوْقٌ وَنَأْيٌ وَتَبْرِيحٌ وَمَعْتَبَةٌ

يَا لَلْحَمِيَّةِ مِنْ غَدْرِي وَإِهْمَالِي

Longing, distance, torment, and reproach!

O honor, how I am betrayed and neglected!

أَصْبَحْتُ لا أَسْتَطِيعُ الثَّوْبَ أَسْحَبُهُ

وَقَدْ أَكُونُ وَضَافِي الدِرْعِ سِرْبَالِي

I can no longer drag my robe,

Though once ample armor was my garment.

وَلا تَكَادُ يَدِي تُجْرِي شَبَا قَلَمِي

وَكَانَ طَوْعَ بَنَانِي كُلُّ عَسَّالِ

And my hand can scarcely move the point of my pen,

Though every quivering lance once obeyed my fingers.

فَإِنْ يَكُنْ جَفَّ عُودِي بَعْدَ نَضْرَتِهِ

فَالدَّهْرُ مَصْدَرُ إِدْبَارٍ وَإِقْبَالِ

So if my branch has dried after its freshness,

Time is the source of decline and prosperity.

عَلامَ أَجْزَعُ وَالأَيَّامُ تَشْهَدُ لِي

بِصِدْقِ مَا كَانَ مِنْ وَسْمِي وَإِغْفَالِي

Why should I despair, when the days bear witness for me

To my sincerity in what I marked and what I left unmarked?

رَاجَعْتُ فِهْرِسَ آثَارِي فَمَا لَمَحَتْ

بَصِيرَتِي فِيهِ مَا يُزْرِي بِأَعْمَالِي

I reviewed the catalogue of my deeds, and never did

My insight glimpse in it anything that diminished my works.

فَكَيْفَ يُنْكِرُ قَوْمِي فَضْلَ بَادِرَتِي

وَقَدْ سَرَتْ حِكَمِي فِيهِمْ وَأَمْثَالِي

How, then, can my people deny the merit of my initiative,

When my wisdom and maxims have spread among them?

أَنَا ابْنُ قَوْلِي وَحَسْبِي فِي الْفَخَارِ بِهِ

وَإِنْ غَدَوْتُ كَرِيمَ الْعَمِّ والْخَالِ

I am the son of my words; they suffice me for pride,

Though I have noble paternal and maternal uncles.

وَلِي مِنَ الشِّعْرِ آيَاتٌ مُفَصَّلَةٌ

تَلُوحُ فِي وَجْنَةِ الأَيَّامِ كَالْخَالِ

And I have verses of poetry, distinctly set forth,

Shining like a beauty mark on the cheek of days.

يَنْسَى لَهَا الْفَاقِدُ الْمَحْزُونُ لَوْعَتَهُ

وَيَهْتَدِي بِسَنَاهَا كُلُّ قَوَّالِ

Through them, the grieving bereaved forgets his anguish,

And every poet is guided by their radiance.

فَانْظُرْ لِقَوْلِي تَجِدْ نَفْسِي مُصَوَّرَةً

فِي صَفْحَتَيْهِ فَقَوْلِي خَطُّ تِمْثَالِي

Look, then, at my poetry: you will find my soul portrayed

On its two pages, for my poetry outlines my likeness.

وَلا تَغُرَّنْكَ فِي الدُّنْيَا مُشَاكَلَةٌ

بَيْنَ الأَنَامِ فَلَيْسَ النَّبْعُ كَالضَّالِ

And do not let resemblance in this world deceive you

Among mankind: the nabʿ tree is not like the ḍāl tree.

إِنَّ ابْنَ آدَمَ لَوْلا عَقْلُهُ شَبحٌ

مُرَكَّبٌ مِنْ عِظَامٍ ذَاتِ أَوْصَالِ

Indeed, without his reason, the son of Adam is a bodily form

Composed of bones with joints.