أحاد أم سداس في أحاد — Al Mutanabbi

Is it one night, or six nights in one—

our little night, bound to the Day of Calling?

As though the Daughters of Naʿsh, in its darkness,

were unveiled maidens in mourning.

I ponder grappling with death,

and leading horses with their necks held high.

My resolve pledges to the spears of al-Khatt

to shed the blood of townsfolk and desert dwellers.

How long this hanging back and slackness,

and how long this persisting in persistence,

and distracting the soul from seeking high honors

by selling poetry in a stagnant market?

And youth gone by cannot be reclaimed,

nor can a day that passes be recovered.

Whenever my eye notices the whiteness of gray hair,

it has already found it in its own dark pupil.

Whenever I increase beyond my prime,

my decline occurs within my increase.

Would I be content to live and not repay

the favors bestowed by the emir?

May God reward the journey to him with good,

though it left the mounts like waterskins.

For my sturdy she-camel did not meet Ibn Ibrahim

with a day's sustenance for ticks still in her.

Was there not a distant land between us?

Yet he made its length the width of a sword-belt.

He drove our distance away, as nearness does,

and drew our nearness close, as distance does.

And when I came to him, he raised my station,

and seated me upon the seven mighty heavens.

He beamed before I greeted him,

and offered his wealth before offering a cushion.

We blame you, Ali, for no fault,

because you have put mankind to shame;

and because no generous man is allowed,

by your gifts, to be called generous.

As though your generosity were Islam, you fear,

if you change, the consequence of apostasy.

As though heads in battle were eyes,

and your swords had been forged from sleep.

And you have fashioned spearheads from worries,

so they pass nowhere but through a heart.

And on the day you brought them, their forelocks disheveled,

their tail-locks knotted for combat,

and destruction wheeled with them over a people

whose tyranny in Latakia was that of ʿAd,

the west became a sea of water,

and the east became a sea of steeds.

Your banners had fluttered there,

so it kept surging with bright, sharp swords.

They met you with the livers of ailing, water-refusing camels,

so you drove them, the sword's edge their drover.

And you had torn the robe of error from them,

and I had clothed them in the robe of right guidance.

They did not relinquish rule by choice,

nor profess love for you out of love;

nor did they lower themselves from disdain for high rank,

nor submit from delight in submission.

But fear of you swept through their entrails,

as wind sweeps through a swarm of locusts.

They died before their death; and when

you showed mercy, you restored them before the Resurrection.

You sheathed keen swords; had they not repented,

you would have erased them with those blades, as ink is erased.

And newly roused anger, though it grow strong,

cannot prevail over long-inherited generosity.

So let no loyal tongues deceive you,

turned by hostile hearts.

And be like death, which feels no pity for a weeper

who weeps because of it; it gives drink, yet remains thirsty.

For a wound reopens after a time

if the structure is founded on decay.

And water flows from lifeless matter,

and fire comes forth from firesticks.

And how can a coward spend the night lying down

when you have spread qatad thorns beneath his side?

In sleep he sees your spear in his kidneys,

and fears to see it while awake.

You counseled me, Abu al-Husayn, to praise a people

among whom I lodged, then departed without provisions.

They thought I had praised them long ago,

but you were the one I meant in praising them.

I shall indeed leave you the day after tomorrow,

but my heart will not leave your courtyard.

I love you wherever my riding-camels turn,

and am your guest in whatever land I may be.