كان الوداد منغصا لوشاتنا — Sardar

Our affection was a vexation to our slanderers,

even if they hurled crushing blows between us.

Our outward appearances were favored; we would close our eyes

to them and look to the soundness of inner intentions,

untying the knots of rancor whenever

the envier laid a schemer's snare for us.

In days when no bride of brotherhood was divorced

by us, nor was the mother of sincerity barren.

Now the envier has unsettled us, as he wished

to do to us; the whistler's whistle has scattered us.

And as though it had been a dreamer's fancies—

that affection—or an evening companion's jest.

Whenever you are bereaved of a friend's affection,

you have indeed lost, with it, the pupil of your eye.

And so I mourned your brotherhood, just as

the doves lamented the early spring.

Never! Afterward, you will not find

my equal in exchange for goods and trading stock.

Do not cast the friends around you aside,

for the eye cannot survive without its sockets.

I never thought that the dye of our affection

was something that would fade with passing time.

And had I feared that, I would have ransomed it

from fading with the color of my forelocks and braids.

Yet every oddity and marvel

is the work of this revolving waterwheel.

If you persist in severing ties, you will encounter no

trouble beyond the reproach of a beloved who withdraws.

And if you seek pardon, I shall forgive it; its recompense

from me will be a penitent's reward from one who forgives.

Until you see the clouds of reunion restoring

that dried brushwood to the lush growth of a verdant meadow.

Indeed, branches regain the beauty of their form

after bending under the buffeting of fierce, cold winds.

I am the one you know: when speech falters

in its words, or the horizon of thought grows cloudy,

between my mouth and jaw hinges lies a piece of flesh

that has mocked the throat sac of the pampered, bellowing camel.

I am master of speech; its pearls are gathered

by my diving, even from the floor of a surging sea.

And when I compose prose, an orator's eloquence rises;

and when I compose verse, a poet's eloquence soars.

Among the mounts of excellence, every swift she-camel is mine;

I always saddle her to carry a traveler's provisions.

Many a watering place offered clear water for my drinking;

I alarmed it and bereaved it with my departures.

If my scabbard wears out, my cutting edges do not;

or if it is chipped, my insights are not blunted.

My steeds come in ahead in the race,

while others' steeds are in the tenth rank.

And in scholars' assemblies, the seats of honor are filled

by me; the rear is for the ignorant, bewildered man.

If people charge me with shortcomings,

a beauty is not harmed by rival wives' faultfinding.

If you were not a kernel at the center of my heart,

I would forget you as I forget some of my treasures.

And I would say: this is not the first to break

a pledge, nor is this the first betrayer.

But you settled in a place within my heart,

where you became the foster-child of a flourishing home.

My way, through time's injustice and its fairness,

is to say, “May you recover!” to the foot of one who stumbles.