يقولُ البحْرُ للبحّارِ: خُذنيْ

سَئمتُ العيْشَ في مَدٍّ وجَزْرِ

The sea says to the sailor: Take me—

I have wearied of life in ebb and flow.

حَملتُ النَّاسَ لمْ أعبَأْ بآتٍ

ولا غادٍ ولا أسْلمتُ أمريْ

I carried humankind, caring neither for one arriving

nor for one departing; nor did I yield up my command.

إلى الجودِيِّ سُقْتُ الفُلْكَ أمْرًا

بموجٍ كالجبالِ وكنْتُ أَجْريْ

Toward al-Judi I drove the Ark by command,

through mountain-like waves, while I swept onward.

فأقلَعت السَّماءُ، وذلَّلتْنيْ

شُقوقُ الأرضِ ما استوْفيتُ أجْريْ

Then the sky held back, and I was humbled

by the earth’s fissures; I never received my full due.

و«موسى» الطفلُ في سَلٍّ سَريرٍ

لأمٍّ ألقَت السَّلوَى بذعْرِ

And Moses, the child, in a little basket—

for a mother who cast away her solace in terror.

رَددْتُ صَغيرَها ما ابْتَلَّ صَدْرًا

ولمّا اشتدَّ عُودًا شَقَّ صَدريْ!

I returned her little one without a breast getting wet;

but when his frame grew strong, he split my breast!

وَسِعْتُ الماءَ... ما قالتْ غُيومٌ

وما هَمَستْ بهِ عينٌ لنهرِ

I encompassed the water—whatever clouds had uttered,

whatever a spring whispered to a river,

وما استرقَ الغَديرُ من النَّدامى

وما ذَرَفتْ عيونٌ يومَ هَجْرِ

whatever the brook overheard from boon companions,

and whatever eyes shed on a day of parting.

هُمُ العُشّاقُ مُذْ كانوا حَمَامًا

وهذا الماءُ مسكوبٌ لطيريْ

They are the lovers, ever since they were doves,

and this water is poured out for my birds.

تمادَوْا في الجهاتِ وَهُمْ حَيارَى

وراحوا بعدَ هَدْيٍ نحوَ بَرِّ!

They wandered on through every direction, bewildered,

then, once guided, headed toward land!

كأنَّ الرمْلَ مِفتاحٌ لعُسْرٍ

وموجُ اليَمِّ أقفالٌ لِيُسْرِ

As though sand were a key to hardship,

and the sea’s waves were locks upon ease.

فلا تأبهْ بمن عَبروا وساروا

على دُسُرٍ بألواحٍ وخِدْرِ

So pay no heed to those who crossed and journeyed

on fastenings, with planks and a curtained chamber.

أقمْتُ العُمْرَ في حِلٍّ ثَقيلٍ

وكمْ عَبَروا خِفافًا تحتَ جِسريْ!

I spent a lifetime bearing a heavy load,

while so many crossed lightly beneath my bridge!

أنا البَحرُ المسافرُ في مَكاني

وصحنُ الأرضِ مِتراسٌ لِقبْريْ

I am the sea, the traveler fixed in place;

the earth’s mass is a rampart for my grave.

وَهبْتُ العَذْبَ مِنْ مائي شَرابًا

وألبسْتُ العَذارى حُلْوَ دُرّيْ

I gave the fresh water of my waters as drink,

and dressed maidens in the beauty of my pearls.

يُنازِعُني المهاجِرُ قُوتَ جَوْفي

بمجدافٍ وطعْنٍ فوقَ ظَهريْ

The migrant wrestles me for the sustenance in my belly,

with an oar—and stabbing upon my back.

وإنْ أطبقْتُ فكَّ الماءِ غِلًّا

تَشبَّثَ كالقلادةِ فَوقَ نَحْرِ

And if my palm closes over the water, it boils;

he clings like a necklace at a throat.

حَفظْتُ السِرَّ في قاعٍ بَعيدٍ

فهلْ حَفِظَتْ حُفاةُ البرِّ سِرّيْ؟

I kept the secret in a far-off depth;

but have the barefoot people of land kept my secret?

فَقُلْ للعابرينَ: ألا فمرُّوا

مَطايا نحنُ، والأقدارُ عُذْريْ

So tell the passersby: Come, pass on.

We are mounts, and the fates are my excuse.

تغادرُني النَّوارسُ مثلَ إنْسٍ

تَعلَّلني، وولّى دونَ ذِكْريْ

The gulls leave me, as human beings do:

they divert me, then turn away without remembering me.