أَيَدري ما أَرابَكَ مَن يُريبُ

وَهَل تَرقى إِلى الفَلَكِ الخُطوبُ

Does the causer of your ailment know whom he afflicts? Or can mere misfortunes scale the celestial spheres?

Your frame transcends the ambition of every plague; that even the least draws near is strange indeed.

وَجِسمُكَ فَوقَ هِمَّةِ كُلِّ داءٍ

فَقُربُ أَقَلِّها مِنهُ عَجيبُ

Time but toys with you in passion and in love, for even a lover may harm through excess of affection.

How can the world afflict you with any ill, when you yourself are the physician for the world's malaise?

يُجَمِّشُكَ الزَمانُ هَوىً وَحُبّاً

وَقَد يُؤذي مِنَ المِقَةِ الحَبيبُ

How can complaint of sickness befall you, when you are the refuge sought against all that befalls?

I have grown weary of any day that lacks a true thrust of the spear and blood poured forth.

وَكَيفَ تُعِلُّكَ الدُنيا بِشَيءٍ

وَأَنتَ لِعِلَّةِ الدُنيا طَبيبُ

You are the King whom soft silken beds make ill—due to high resolve—and whom wars alone can heal.

You suffer from naught but the longing to behold the steeds, with the battle-dust clinging to their hooves,

وَكَيفَ تَنوبَكَ الشَكوى بِداءٍ

وَأَنتَ المُستَغاثُ لِما يَنوبُ

Storming boldly into the lands of the foe, while tawny spears claim throats and flanks as their prize.

So let the reins hang like earrings upon them as they return, for the distant prize they sought is now close at hand.

مَلِلتُ مُقامَ يَومٍ لَيسَ فيهِ

طِعانٌ صادِقٌ وَدَمٌ صَبيبُ

Is this a malady that eluded Hippocrates? For truly, its bearer has no equal known to man.

By the radiant Sword of the State do my eyelids rest beneath a sun that knows no setting;

وَأَنتَ المَلكُ تُمرِضُهُ الحَشايا

لِهِمَّتِهِ وَتَشفيهِ الحُروبُ

I raid the raider, and in him lies my might; I strike the archer, and through him do I strike true.

The envious have every excuse to begrudge my gaze upon him, and to melt away in jealousy,

وَما بِكَ غَيرُ حُبِّكَ أَن تَراها

وَعِثيَرُها لِأَرجُلِها جَنيبُ

For I have ascended to a station where the very hearts envy the eyes their sight.

مُجَلِّحَةً لَها أَرضُ الأَعادي

وَلِلسُمرِ المَناحِرُ وَالجُنوبُ

فَقَرِّطها الأَعِنَّةَ راجِعاتٍ

فَإِنَّ بَعيدَ ما طَلَبَت قَريبُ

أَذا داءٌ هَفا بُقراطُ عَنهُ

فَلَم يُعرَف لِصاحِبِهِ ضَريبُ

بِسَيفِ الدَولَةِ الوَضّاءِ تُمسي

جُفوني تَحتَ شَمسٍ ما تَغيبُ

فَأَغزو مَن غَزا وَبِهِ اِقتِداري

وَأَرمي مَن رَمى وَبِهِ أُصيبُ

وَلِلحُسّادِ عُذرٌ أَن يَشِحّوا

عَلى نَظَري إِلَيهِ وَأَن يَذوبوا

فَإِنّي قَد وَصَلتُ إِلى مَكانٍ

عَلَيهِ تَحسُدُ الحَدَقَ القُلوبُ