أَلا لا أَرى الأَحداثَ حَمداً وَلا ذَمّا
فَما بَطشُها جَهلاً وَلا كَفُّها حِلما
I see in Fate’s events neither praise nor blame,
Her strikes are not from folly, nor her respite from grace.
إِلى مِثلِ ما كانَ الفَتى مَرجِعُ الفَتى
يَعودُ كَما أُبدي وَيُكري كَما أَرمى
To the state he once was, the young man returns,
He goes back as he began, dissolving as he formed.
لَكِ اللَهُ مِن مَفجوعَةٍ بِحَبيبِها
قَتيلَةِ شَوقٍ غَيرِ مُلحِقِها وَصما
God be with you, O heart bereft of your beloved,
Slain by a longing that brings no shade of shame.
أَحِنُّ إِلى الكَأسِ الَّتي شَرِبَت بِها
وَأَهوى لِمَثواها التُرابَ وَما ضَمّا
I yearn to taste the cup from which she drank,
And for her sake, I love the earth and all it holds.
بَكَيتُ عَلَيها خيفَةً في حَياتِها
وَذاقَ كِلانا ثُكلَ صاحِبِهِ قِدما
I wept for her in fear while she still lived,
And each of us had tasted the other’s loss before.
وَلَو قَتَلَ الهَجرُ المُحِبّينَ كُلَّهُم
مَضى بَلَدٌ باقٍ أَجَدَّت لَهُ صَرما
If separation were to slay all lovers dead,
A surviving land would perish from the severance she renewed.
عَرَفتُ اللَيالي قَبلَ ما صَنَعَت بِنا
فَلَمّا دَهَتني لَم تَزِدني بِها عِلما
I knew the Nights before they dealt this blow,
So when they struck, they added nothing to my knowing.
مَنافِعُها ما ضَرَّ في نَفعِ غَيرِها
تَغَذّى وَتَروى أَن تَجوعَ وَأَن تَظما
Their boons are simply harms that profit others,
They feast and drink only that we might starve and thirst.
أَتاها كِتابي بَعدَ يَأسٍ وَتَرحَةٍ
فَماتَت سُروراً بي فَمُتُّ بِها غَمّا
My letter reached her after despair and gloom,
She died of joy for me; I died of grief for her.
حَرامٌ عَلى قَلبي السُرورُ فَإِنَّني
أَعُدُّ الَّذي ماتَت بِهِ بَعدَها سُمّا
All joy is now forbidden to my heart, for I
Count what she died of—joy itself—as fatal poison.
تَعَجَّبُ مِن خَطّي وَلَفظي كَأَنَّها
تَرى بِحُروفِ السَطرِ أَغرِبَةً عُصما
She marveled at my script and words, as if she saw
Within the inked lines, strange birds with white-marked feet.
وَتَلثَمُهُ حَتّى أَصارَ مِدادُهُ
مَحاجِرَ عَينَيها وَأَنيابَها سُحما
She kissed the page until the ink became
Dark smudges on her eyelids and her teeth.
رَقا دَمعُها الجاري وَجَفَّت جُفونُها
وَفارَقَ حُبّي قَلبَها بَعدَ ما أَدمى
Her flowing tears ceased, her eyelids dried at last,
And my love left her heart, after it made it bleed.
وَلَم يُسلِها إِلّا المَنايا وَإِنَّما
أَشَدُّ مِنَ السُقمِ الَّذي أَذهَبَ السُقما
Nothing could solace her but death; indeed,
The cure that ends the pain is harsher than the pain.
طَلَبتُ لَها حَظّاً فَفاتَت وَفاتَني
وَقَد رَضِيَت بي لَو رَضيتُ بِها قِسما
I sought a fortune for her sake; she passed, and it escaped me,
She was content with me, had I but found content in her.
فَأَصبَحتُ أَستَسقي الغَمامُ لِقَبرِها
وَقَد كُنتُ أَستَسقي الوَغى وَالقَنا الصُمّا
Now I beseech the clouds to rain upon her grave,
Though once I sought my rain from war and solid spears.
وَكُنتُ قُبَيلَ المَوتِ أَستَعظِمُ النَوى
فَقَد صارَتِ الصُغرى الَّتي كانَتِ العُظمى
Before this death, I held mere distance in great dread,
But now the greatest fear has shrunk to be the least.
هَبيني أَخَذتُ الثَأرَ فيكِ مِنَ العِدا
فَكَيفَ بِأَخذِ الثَأرِ فيكِ مِنَ الحُمّى
Suppose I took revenge for you upon my foes,
How does one take revenge against a burning fever?
وَما اِنسَدَّتِ الدُنيا عَلَيَّ لِضيقِها
وَلَكِنَّ طَرفاً لا أَراكِ بِهِ أَعمى
The world has not closed in on me for lack of space,
But any eye wherein you dwell not remains blind.
فَوا أَسَفا أَن لا أُكِبَّ مُقَبِّلاً
لِرَأسِكِ وَالصَدرِ الَّذي مُلِئا حَزما
Alas, that I can not bend down to kiss
Your head, and that breast filled with prudence and resolve.
وَأَن لا أُلاقي روحَكِ الطَيِّبَ الَّذي
كَأَنَّ ذَكِيَّ المِسكِ كانَ لَهُ جِسما
That I may not encounter your pure soul, which seemed
As if the scent of musk had formed its very frame.
وَلَو لَم تَكوني بِنتَ أَكرَمِ والِدٍ
لَكانَ أَباكِ الضَخمَ كَونُكِ لي أُمّا
Even were you not the daughter of a noble line,
Being a mother to me would prove your grandeur.
لَئِن لَذَّ يَومُ الشامِتينَ بِيَومِها
فَقَد وَلَدَت مِنّي لِأَنفِهِمُ رَغما
If gloaters find a sweetness in her day of death,
She bore in me a son to grind their pride to dust.
تَغَرَّبَ لا مُستَعظِماً غَيرَ نَفسِهِ
وَلا قابِلاً إِلّا لِخالِقِهِ حُكما
He roamed afar, esteeming nothing but himself,
Accepting judgment from none other than his God.
وَلا سالِكاً إِلّا فُؤادَ عَجاجَةٍ
وَلا واجِداً إِلّا لِمَكرُمَةٍ طَعما
He treads no path but through the heart of battle-dust,
And finds no taste in anything but noble deeds.
يَقولونَ لي ما أَنتَ في كُلِّ بَلدَةٍ
وَما تَبتَغي ما أَبتَغي جَلَّ أَن يُسمى
They ask me, "What are you in every land you tread?"
"What do you seek?" The goal I seek is past all names.
كَأَنَّ بَنيهِم عالِمونَ بِأَنَّني
جَلوبٌ إِلَيهِم مِن مَعادِنِهِ اليُتما
As if their very sons already know that I
Am one who mines their orphanhood and brings it home.
وَما الجَمعُ بَينَ الماءِ وَالنارِ في يَدي
بِأَصعَبَ مِن أَن أَجمَعَ الجَدَّ وَالفَهما
To gather fire and water in a single hand
Is easier than to couple luck with wisdom here.
وَلَكِنَّني مُستَنصِرٌ بِذُبابِهِ
وَمُرتَكِبٌ في كُلِّ حالٍ بِهِ الغَشما
Yet I seek victory through the sword-edge alone,
And wreak destruction with it in every plight.
وَجاعِلُهُ يَومَ اللِقاءِ تَحِيَّتي
وَإِلّا فَلَستُ السَيِّدَ البَطَلَ القَرما
I make the sword my greeting on the meeting-day,
Or else I am no master, hero, or true lord.
إِذا فَلَّ عَزمي عَن مَدىً خَوفُ بُعدِهِ
فَأَبعَدُ شَيءٍ مُمكِنٌ لَم يَجِد عَزما
If fear of distance ever dulled my sharp resolve,
Then distant glory would find no resolve in me.
وَإِنّي لَمِن قَومٍ كَأَنَّ نُفوسَنا
بِها أَنَفٌ أَن تَسكُنَ اللَحمَ وَالعَظما
I come from people whose proud souls, it seems,
Disdain to dwell within the flesh and bone.
كَذا أَنا يا دُنيا إِذا شِئتِ فَاِذهَبي
وَيا نَفسُ زيدي في كَرائِهِها قُدما
Such am I, World! So vanish if you will;
And you, my soul, charge forth into your dread.
فَلا عَبَرَت بي ساعَةٌ لا تُعِزُّني
وَلا صَحِبَتني مُهجَةٌ تَقبَلُ الظُلما
May no hour pass that does not raise me high,
Nor any soul stay with me that accepts a wrong.
