لَقَد كُنتَ لِلمَظلومِ عِزّاً وَناصِراً
إِذا ما تَعَيّا في الأُمورِ حُصونُها
Truly, you were solace for the oppressed, their mighty defender,
Whenever fortresses resisted them in their affairs,
كَما كانَ حِصناً لا يُرامُ مُمَنَّعاً
بأَشبالِ أُسدٍ لا يُرامُ عَرينُها
Like an unassailable fortress of lion cubs whose den cannot be approached.
If only—but never did you exercise authority over us,
وَلِيتَ فَما شانَتكَ فينا وِلايَةٌ
وَلا أَنتَ فيها كُنتَ مِمَّن يَشينُها
Nor were you among those who disgraced it.
Your soul disdained wealth out of piety,
فَعَفّت عَنِ الأَموالِ نَفسُكَ رَغبَةً
وَأَكرِم بِنَفسٍ عِندَ ذاكَ تَصونُها
And you honored yourself thereby.
Then you refrained, like one who restrains himself lest he dishonor it.
وَعَطَّلتَها مِن بَعدِ ذَلِكَ كَالَّذي
نَهى نَفسَهُ أَن خالَفَتهُ يُهينها
You toiled at it, a cautious laborer,
Certain that God would ultimately judge it.
كَدَحتَ لَها كَدحَ اِمرِىٍ مُتَحَرِّجٍ
قَد أَيقَنَ أَنَّ اللَهَ سَوفَ يَدينُها
So none faulted you for a thing—their souls were convinced of it.
You lived virtuously in the wilderness, just,
فَما عابَ مِن شَيءٍ عَلَيهِ فَإِنَّهُ
قَد اِستَيقَنَت فيهِ نفوسُ يقينُها
Fulfilling its rights, never betraying them.
You died fettered. Still it weeps in widowhood for you
فَعِشتَ حَميداً في البَرِيَّةِ مُقسِطاً
تُؤَدّي إِلَيها حَقَّها ما تَخونُها
And with unstanching tears.
When the warbling doves begin their laments
وَمُتَّ فَقيداً فَهيَ تَبكي بِعَولَةٍ
عَلَيكَ وَحُزنٍ ما تَجِفُّ عُيونُها
In the lush treetops on the branches’ boughs,
My eyes weep over the good days now gone
إِذا ما بَدا شَجواً حَمامٌ مُغَرِّداً
عَلى أَثلَةٍ خَضراءَ دانٍ غُصونُها
As succeeding tribulations commence.
I recalled days past and nights
بَكَت عُمَرَ الخَيراتِ عَيني بِعَبرَةٍ
عَلى إِثرِ أُخرى تَستَهِلُّ شُؤونُها
When safety dwelt in them, justice too.
But when morning comes, the times have changed.
تَذَكَّرتُ أَيّاماً خَلَت وَلَيالِياً
بِها الأَمنُ فيها العَدلُ كانَت تَكونُها
What was fresh has spoiled, turned fetid.
It lived well when you made it comfortable.
فَإِن تُصبِحِ الدُنيا تَغَيَّرَ صَفوُها
فَحالَت وَأَمسَت وَهيَ غَثٌّ سَمينُها
But many are its guiles now.
Had death taken another, you’d not have found
فَقَد غَنِيَت إِذ كُنتَ فيها رَخِيَّةً
وَلَكِنَّها قِدماً كَثيرٌ فُنونُها
One so generous to it while you lived.
Now who will be there for the orphans and poor
فَلَو كانَ ذاقَ المَوتَ غَيرُكَ لَم تَجِد
سَخِيّاً بِها ما عِشتَ فيها يَمونُها
And the widow overcome by her moans—
Though she is not ill, just starving, and finds
فَمَن لِليَتامى وَالمَساكينِ بَعدَهُ
وَأَرمَلَةٍ باتَت شَديداً أَنينُها
None to aid her hunger after you?
You were refreshing rain for her and green meadows
وَلَيسَ بِها سُقمٌ سِوى الجوعِ لَم تَجِد
عَلى جوعِها مِن بَعدِها مَن يُعينُها
Like the abundant pools of the raging sea.
If the world is bound to pass, and its people too,
وَكُنتَ لَها غَيثاً مَريعاً وَمَرتَعاً
كَما في غَمارِ البَحرِ أَمرَعَ نونُها
When justice goes, its time has surely come.
It has settled, but its comfort is lost.
فَإِن كانَ لِلدُنيا زَوالٌ وَأَهلِها
لِعَدلٍ إِذا وَلّى فَقَد حانَ حينُها
No good remains when its gentleness goes.
The outskirts wept for him; they shuddered at his loss.
أَقامَت لَكُم دُنيا وَزالَ رَخاؤُها
فَلا خَيرَ في دُنيا إِذا زالَ لينُها
The plains and hills grieved for him.
Every land his justice touched
بَكَتهُ الضَواحي وَاِقشَعَرَّت لِفَقدِهِ
بِحُزنٍ عَلَيها سَهلُها وَحُزونُها
Yearns for him, filled with ardent longing.
The righteous women wept for his justice,
فَكُلُّ بِلادٍ نالَها عَدلُ حُكمِهِ
شَديدٌ إِلَيها شَوقُها وَحَنينُها
And the unborn for what they missed of him.
When he left, they shuddered and knew
فَلَمّا بَكَتهُ الصالِحاتُ بِعَدلِهِ
وَما فاتَها مِنهُ بَكَتهُ بُطونُها
Their intimacy and trustee were gone.
Their wombs shone radiantly for him,
وَلَمّا اِقشَعَرَّت حينَ وَلّى وَأَيقَنَت
لَقَد زالَ مِنها أُنسُها وَأَمينُها
Glimpsing the blessings within them.
If their wombs shone and brought good tidings
وَقالَت لَهُ أَهلاً وَسَهلاً وَأَشرَقَت
بِنورٍ لَهُ مُستَشرِفاتٍ بُطونُها
When he died and entered them,
Adorning them with his presence and dignity
فَإِن أَشرَقَت مِنها بطونٌ وَأَبشَرَت
لَهُ إِذ ثَوى فيها مُقيماً رَهينا
As he once adorned the lands—
They made his grave a fragrant bed;
وَقَد زانَها زيناً لَهُ وَكَرامَةً
كَما كانَ في ظَهرِ البِلادِ يَزينُها
Blessèd is the embryo in its womb.
May our Lord water, from Deir Sam'an, a tomb
لَقَد ضُمِّنَتهُ حُفرَةٌ طابَ نَشرُها
وَطابَ جَنيناً ضُمِّنَتهُ جَنينُها
Where the best of days lies buried.
Brilliant lamps—abundant pilgrims—
سَقى رَبُّنا مِن دَيرِ سَمعانَ حُفرَةً
بِها عُمَرُ الخَيراتِ رَهناً دَفينها
Torches of sorrow without respite.
صَوابِحَ مِن مُزنٍ ثِقالٍ عَوادِياً
دَوالِحَ دُهماً ما خِضاتٍ دُجونها
