أَلَم تَرَ أَنَّ الحَيَّ فَرَّقَ بَينَهُم
نَوى يَومَ صَحراءِ الغُمَيمِ لَجوجِ
Did you not see how life has divided them,
With resolve, one day on the gloomy desert?
نَوىً شَطَنَتهُم عَن نَوانا وَهَيَّجَت
لَنا طَرَباً إِنَّ الخُطوبَ تَهيجُ
Its whims distracted them from pastureland while it stirred
For us a passion—worries do impassion!
فَلَم تَذرِفِ العَينانِ حَتّى تَحَمَّلَت
مَعَ الصُبحِ أَحفاضٌ لَهُم وَحُدوجُ
My eyes did not spill tears until they bore
At dawn burdens for them, and yearnings too.
وَحَتّى رَأَيتُ الحَيَّ تُذري عِراصَهُم
يَمانِيَةٌ تَزهى الرَغامَ دَروجُ
Until I saw life scattering their bones—
A Yemeni mare prances, adorned in silk.
فَأَصبَحَ مَسرورٌ بِبَينِكِ مُعجَبٌ
وَباكٍ لَهُ عِندَ الدِيارِ نَشيجُ
So one rejoices, enamored of your separation,
While for his home he weeps when far away.
فَإِن تَكُ هِندٌ جَنَّةً حيلَ دونَها
فَقَد يَعزِفُ اليَأسُ الفَتى فَيَعيجُ
For if India were a walled paradise,
Then despair might make the youth disconsolate.
إِذا اِحتَلَّتِ الرَنقاءَ هِندٌ مُقيمَةً
وَقَد حانَ مِنّي مِن دِمَشقَ بُروجُ
When the graceful one settled in India,
The time for my departure from Damascus was nigh.
وَبُدِّلتُ أَرضَ الشَيحِ مِنها وَبُدِّلَت
تِلاعَ المَطالي سَخبَرٌ وَوَشيجُ
I exchanged the land of Sheeha for it and bartered
Meadows of wishful thinking for desolate wastes.
وَأَعرَضَ مِن حَورانَ وَالقُنُّ دونَها
تِلالٌ وَخَلّاتٌ لَهُنَّ أَجيجُ
And I paid no heed to Hawran or to Coon downstream,
Where for them are ridges and formations echoing.
فَلا وَصلَ إِلّا أَن تُقَرِّبَ بَينَنا
قَلائِصُ يَجذِبنَ المَثانِيَ عوجُ
No joining will occur unless brought closer by
Light horses pulling at the tent ropes insistently.
وَمُخلِفَةٌ أَنيابَها جَدَلِيَّةٌ
تَشُدُّ حَشاها نِسعَةٌ وَنَسيجُ
And a train of them, their fetlocks plaited,
Gird themselves, brisk, harnessed, and braided.
لَها رَبِذاتٌ بِالنَجاءِ كَأَنَّها
دَعائِمُ أَرزٍ بَينَهُنَّ فُروجُ
Some have carved poles on their litters that seem
Like the trunks of a cedar wood thicket between.
إِذا هَبَطَت أَرضاً عِزازاً تَحامَلَت
مَناسِمُ مِنها راعِفٌ وَشَجيجُ
When they descend on honored terrain they bear
Burdens from them, quaking and clamoring.
وَمُغبَرَّةِ الآفاقِ يَجري سَرابُها
عَلى أُكمِها قَبلَ الضُحى فَيَموجُ
And in the horizon's dust their mirage flows
Along their dunes before the dawn, rippling.
قَطَعتُ إِذا الأَرطى اِرتَدى في ظِلالِهِ
حَوازيءُ يَرعَينَ الفَلاةَ دُموجُ
When I traverse the wilderness, there wanders in its shadows
A herd grazing the wasteland, docile and obedient.
لَعَمرُ اِبنَةِ المُرِّيِّ ما أَنا بِالَّذي
لَهُ أَن تَنوبَ النائِباتُ ضَجيجُ
By the life of Murri's daughter, it is not I
For whom the substitute women wail sorrowfully!
وَقَد عَلِمَت أُمُّ الصَبِيَّينِ أَنَّني
إِلى الضَيفِ قَوّامُ السِناتِ خَروجُ
And the mother of the two boys knows I am
To the guest assiduous, of long-standing habit.
وَإِنّي لَأَغلي اللَحمَ نيئاً وَإِنَّني
لَمِمَّن يُهينُ اللَحمَ وَهوَ نَضيجُ
For I boil the meat raw, and I am one
Who spoils the meat, and it still undercooked.
إِذا المُرضِعُ العَوجاءُ بِاللَيلِ عَزَّها
عَلى ثَديِها ذو وَرعَتَينِ لَهوجُ
When the hungry nursing maid in the night demands
Her nursing breast—a possession of two teats—
إِذا ما اِبتَغى الأَضيافُ مَن يَبذُلُ القِرى
قَرَت لِيَ مِقلاتُ الشِتاءِ خَدوجُ
If the guests seek one who gives hospitality,
My cooking pots in winter thaw for them.
جُمالِيَّةٌ بِالسَيفِ مِن عَظمِ ساقِها
دَمٌ جاسِدٌ لَم أَجلُهُ وَسُحوجُ
A thoroughbred—from the bone of her cannon, blood—
Clotted, undrained. But I did not find it revolting.
كَأَنَّ رِحالَ المَيسٍ في كُلِّ مَوقِفٍ
عَلَيها بِأَجوازِ الفَلاةِ سُروجُ
It is as if the baggage camels at every halt
Dripped on her, in the wasteland's passes, broth.
وَما غاضَ مِن شَيءٍ فَإِنَّ سَماحَتي
وَوَجهي بِهِ أُمُّ الصَبِيِّ بَليجُ
If I am angered by anything, my forbearance
And my face thereby the mother of the boy made smooth.
