Sol 5.6

  1. He bowed his head—for thought belongs to one who bows—

    over what of his life has passed, and what remains.

  2. Then he found reflection returning to him,

    and grew accustomed to it, facing through it whatever befell.

  3. What blame, then, falls upon the riders in your land

    if they struggle against a searing thirst?

  4. If I cannot draw water

    from its spring, I ask a drink of one who can.

  5. They asked, “When will you forget?” I said, “Be patient—

    there is no ‘when’ for me but: When shall we meet?”

  6. And surely among the steeds there is something borne,

    confined like a woman about to give birth:

  7. a golden wine of Beirut, set loose

    upon seasoned minds that once led the race.

  8. It prances like a filly—ask of it

    how much spilled blood that filly has exacted!

  9. Whenever it appears new, its date proves

    the date of something worn, effaced, and threadbare.

  10. I drank it through a capacious throat,

    broad, while my life was straitened and narrow,

  11. amid an army of cares that night led against me.

    Is there a dawn that can assault a legion?

  12. Am I wronged while the state is justice itself? O—

    fortunate one of that state, mourn this wretch!

  13. O Barakāt al-Dīn, O glory of the Faith—

    truly, titles have failed to do you justice.

  14. O peerless brother of generosity, whose equal,

    but for generosity, would never have been created;

  15. and leader of the sleek, mature steeds toward

    watering places where whoever drinks grows thirstier.

  16. Fear of disgrace defied the fear of death,

    so everyone who is not feared fears you.

  17. The clamor is theirs; the lances and sword-blades

    are yours—if they thunder, you flash lightning.

  18. Yet with might go the generous hands that

    set the captive free.

  19. You surpassed all bounds, leaving dust in their faces

    as you raced ahead, never ceasing and never overtaken.

  20. You dug into the depths, seeking the heights—

    how wondrous, the man who descends yet rises!

  21. O reviver of glory, you brought it forth

    from the dust into its radiant light.

  22. Build, then, beyond the wall; for if it does not rise

    in your name, it will not tower above the trench.

  23. Wrest me from Time: you will find that when

    Time’s robe wears threadbare, I shall not wear away.

  24. Muster everyone against me today; I am resolved

    to praise you from West to East.

  25. For poetry endures between us whenever it is

    traced upon the robes of unstained honor.

Sol 5.6