لَكَ القَلَمُ الجاري بِبُؤسٍ وَأَنعُمٍ
فَمِنها بَوادٍ تُرتَجى وَعَوائِدُ
Yours is the pen that flows through misery and blessings;
from these come promising first gifts and recurring favors.
إِذا مَلَأَ القِرطاسَ سودُ سُطورِهِ
فَتِلكَ أُسودٌ تُتَّقى وَأَساوِدُ
When the blackness of its lines fills the page,
those strokes are lions to be feared, and black serpents.
فَتِلكَ جِنانٌ تُجتَنى ثَمَراتُها
وَيَلقاكَ مِن أَنفاسِهِنَّ بِوارِدُ
Those strokes are gardens whose fruits are gathered,
and cool breezes from their breaths come to meet you.
وَهُنَّ بُرودٌ مالَهُنَّ مَناسِجُ
وَهُنَّ عُقودٌ مالَهُنَّ مَعاقِدُ
They are robes that no looms have woven,
and necklaces that have no knots.
وَهُنَّ حَياةٌ لِلوَلِيِّ رَضِيَّةٌ
وَهُنَّ حُتوفٌ لِلعَدُوِّ رَواصِدُ
They are a contented life for the loyal friend,
and deaths lying in wait for the enemy.
Sol 5.6