هاج إدكارى شادن بدكار — Al Shaqroui

A young gazelle at Dakār stirred my remembrance,

strutting proudly at evening and early morn.

He smiles, revealing daisy-like teeth, finely notched,

their roots tinged with the color of pitch.

In his face is a moon, and in his braids

the night of the love-stricken, forever remembering.

Whenever he tries to rise, he is checked

by a rump like the heaped mass of a crumbling dune.

How many a night at the dwelling I courted him,

while his watcher, though in the house, knew nothing.

As he exchanged with us bejeweled talk,

set with rare gems of tales and poetry,

the gathering’s songstress came and sang

in harmony with the melodies and flute:

The Almighty granted victory to all the Helpers

and made them mighty in desert and city,

and an age arrayed itself in loftiness and grandeur,

with glorious deeds that rose above the ages.

They were fashioned with noble souls and chastity,

composure, serenity, and dignity.

If you pass by a single one of their company,

you have indeed passed a reciter and a profound scholar.

So bear word to them, their imam, and their intimate friend,

amid the assembled throngs, like the faces of moons,

that the sword—my sword in noble deeds—is sharp,

and the shaykh is master of benefit and harm.

Their Dhabīḥ, their Bilāl, and every one of them

range from a perfect full moon to brilliant stars.

They are my armor against calamities, should they strike,

and my beloved ones in public and in private.

Sufficient for them, as consummate glory and preeminence,

and as manifest distinction through leadership and honor,

is what Ibrāhīm said: ‘Indeed, their poetry possesses

a charm never found in other verse.’

May God grant them victory and unite their ranks,

increase their blessings and their years,

and make them mighty through the Chosen One and his family—

the sun of the darknesses; the righteous noble lords.

May God bless him as long as there warbles upon

a verdant bough the melodious song of birds.