كَم قَتيلٍ كَما قُتِلتُ شَهيدِ

بِبَياضِ الطُلى وَوَردِ الخُدودِ

How many a victim, slain as I was slain, died a martyr,

To the white of elegance necks and the rose of blushing cheeks,

وَعُيونِ المَها وَلا كَعُيونٍ

فَتَكَت بِالمُتَيَّمِ المَعمودِ

And the eyes of wild oryx—yet no eyes could ever be,

Like those that ravaged this enslaved and love-struck heart.

دَرَّ دَرُّ الصِبا أَأَيّامَ تَجريـ

ـرِ ذُيولي بِدارِ أَثلَةَ عودي

May the milk of youth flow bountiful; O days when I would trail,

My silken robes at Athlah’s abode—return to me!

عَمرَكَ اللَهُ هَل رَأَيتَ بُدوراً

طَلَعَت في بَراقِعٍ وَعُقودِ

By God’s life! Have you ever seen full moons that rise,

Adorned in face-veils and stringed necklaces of gold?

رامِياتٍ بِأَسهُمٍ ريشُها الهُد

بُ تَشُقُّ القُلوبُ قَبلَ الجُلودِ

Archers launching arrows fletched with long, dark lashes,

That cleave through beating hearts before they pierce the skin.

يَتَرَشَّفنَ مِن فَمي رَشَفاتٍ

هُنَّ فيهِ أَحلى مِنَ التَوحيدِ

From my mouth they sip and savour draughts of love,

Sweeter to the taste than the Holy Unity of God.

كُلُّ خَمصانَةٍ أَرَقُّ مِنَ الخَمـ

ـرِ بِقَلبٍ أَقسى مِنَ الجَلمودِ

Each slender-waisted maid, more delicate than wine,

Yet harboring a heart more obdurate than stone.

ذاتِ فَرعٍ كَأَنَّما ضُرِبَ العَنـ

ـبَرُ فيهِ بِماءِ وَردٍ وَعودِ

Possessor of tresses wherein it seems ambergris was mixed,

Blended deep with rose-water and the scent of oud.

حالِكٍ كَالغُدافِ جَثلٍ دَجوجِيـ

ـيٍ أَثيثٍ جَعدٍ بِلا تَجعيدِ

Pitch-black as the raven, thick and dark as night,

Lush and naturally coiled, needing no artifice to curl.

تَحمِلُ المِسكَ عَن غَدائِرِها الريـ

ـحُ وَتَفتَرُّ عَن شَنيبٍ بَرودِ

The breeze bears the scent of musk from her loose locks,

And she smiles to reveal teeth cool and lustrous white.

جَمَعَت بَينَ جِسمِ أَحمَدَ وَالسُقـ

ـمِ وَبَينَ الجُفونِ وَالتَسهيدِ

She has united the body of Ahmad with wasting sickness,

And joined his heavy eyelids with endless sleeplessness.

هَذِهِ مُهجَتي لَدَيكِ لِحيني

فَاِنقُصي مِن عَذابِها أَو فَزيدي

Here is my very soul, held in your hands for my demise;

So lessen its torment, or increase it as you please.

أَهلُ ما بي مِنَ الضَنى بَطَلٌ صيـ

ـدَ بِتَصفيفِ طُرَّةٍ وَبِجيدِ

The cause of my infirmity is a hero captured,

Snared by a styled forelock and an elegant neck.

كُلُّ شَيءٍ مِنَ الدِماءِ حَرامٌ

شُربُهُ ما خَلا دَمَ العُنقودِ

Every draught of blood is forbidden to consume,

Save for the blood bleeding from the clusters of the vine.

فَاِسقِنيها فِدىً لِعَينَيكِ نَفسي

مِن غَزالٍ وَطارِفي وَتَليدي

So pour me a cup—may my soul be ransom for your eyes—

From the hand of a gazelle, my ransom of all wealth new and old.

شَيبُ رَأسي وَذِلَّتي وَنُحولي

وَدُموعي عَلى هَواكَ شُهودي

The graying of my head, my frailty, and my humiliation,

And my flowing tears stand as witnesses to my love for you.

أَيَّ يَومٍ سَرَرتَني بِوِصالٍ

لَم تَرُعني ثَلاثَةً بِصُدودِ

What day did you ever gladden me with union,

Without frightening me away for three with your rejection?

ما مُقامي بِأَرضِ نَخلَةَ إِلّا

كَمُقامِ المَسيحِ بَينَ اليَهودِ

My sojourn in the land of Nakhlah is nothing less

Than the sojourn of the Messiah among the Jews.

مَفرَشي صَهوَةُ الحِصانِ وَلَكِن

نَ قَميصي مَسرودَةٌ مِن حَديدِ

My bed is the saddle upon a stallion’s back,

And my shirt is a tunic woven of chain-mail iron.

لَأمَةٌ فاضَةٌ أَضاةٌ دِلاصٌ

أَحكَمَت نَسجَها يَدا داوُّدِ

A coat of mail, ample, gleaming, and smooth,

Whose weaving was mastered by the hands of David.

أَينَ فَضلي إِذا قَنِعتُ مِنَ الدَهـ

ـرِ بِعَيشٍ مُعَجَّلِ التَنكيدِ

Where lies my merit if I am content with Fate,

To live a life where misery is hastened and assured?

ضاقَ صَدري وَطالَ في طَلَبِ الرِز

قِ قِيامي وَقَلَّ عَنهُ قُعودي

My chest is constricted; long have I stood seeking provision,

And rare has been my rest or sitting from the quest.

أَبَداً أَقطَعُ البِلادَ وَنَجمي

في نُحوسٍ وَهِمَّتي في سُعودِ

Forever I traverse the lands, while my star

Is in misalignment, though my ambition soars in fortune.

وَلَعَلّي مُؤَمِّلٌ بَعضَ ما أَب

لُغُ بِاللُطفِ مِن عَزيزٍ حَميدِ

Perhaps I hope to reach, through grace, a part

Of what I seek from the Mighty, the Praised One.

لِسَرِيٍّ لِباسُهُ خَشِنُ القُط

نِ وَمَروِيُّ مَروَ لِبسُ القُرودِ

For I see the noble wearing but coarse cotton,

While the fine silks of Marw are the raiment of apes.

عِش عَزيزاً أَو مُت وَأَنتَ كَريمٌ

بَينَ طَعنِ القَنا وَخَفقِ البُنودِ

Live in honor, or die with your dignity intact,

Amidst the thrust of spears and the fluttering of banners.

فَرُؤوسُ الرِماحِ أَذهَبُ لِلغَيـ

ـظِ وَأَشفى لِغِلِّ صَدرِ الحَقودِ

For the spear-points are the surest cure for rage,

And the best remedy for the rancor in a vengeful chest.

لا كَما قَد حَيّتَ غَيرَ حَميدٍ

وَإِذا مُتَّ مُتَّ غَيرَ فَقيدِ

Not as you have lived, unpraised and undistinguished,

And if you die, you die unwept and unmissed.

فَاِطلُبِ العِزَّ في لَظى وَذَرِ الذُلـ

ـلَ وَلَو كانَ في جِنانِ الخُلودِ

Seek glory even in the flames of Hell, and shun disgrace,

Even if it were found in the Gardens of Eternity.

يُقتَلُ العاجِزُ الجَبانُ وَقَد يَعـ

ـجِزُ عَن قَطعِ بُخنُقِ المَولودِ

The helpless coward is slain, though he lacks the strength

To sever even the cord of a newborn babe.

وَيُوَقّى الفَتى المِخَشُّ وَقَد خَو

وَضَ في ماءِ لَبَّةِ الصِنديدِ

Yet the bold warrior is spared, though he has plunged,

Deep into the blood-tide of the chieftain’s throat.

لا بِقَومي شَرُفتُ بَل شَرُفوا بي

وَبِنَفسي فَخَرتُ لا بِجُدودي

I gained no honor from my lineage; rather, they gained honor through me,

And in myself I glory, not in my ancestry.

وَبِهِم فَخرُ كُلِّ مَن نَطَقَ الضا

دَ وَعَوذُ الجاني وَعَوثُ الطَريدِ

Through them is the pride of all who speak the Arabic tongue,

The refuge of the sinner and the succor of the outcast.

إِن أَكُن مُعجَباً فَعُجبُ عَجيبٍ

لَم يَجِد فَوقَ نَفسِهِ مِن مَزيدِ

If I seem proud, it is the pride of a phenomenon

Who finds nothing above himself to which he might ascend.

أَنا تِربُ النَدى وَرَبُّ القَوافي

وَسِمامُ العِدا وَغَيظُ الحَسودِ

I am the companion of Generosity and the Master of Rhyme,

The poison to my enemies, and the despair of the envious.

أَنا في أُمَّةٍ تَدارَكَها اللَـ

ـهُ غَريبٌ كَصالِحٍ في ثَمودِ

I dwell among a nation—may God amend their state—

A stranger, like the prophet Salih among the tribe of Thamud.