صيف الصويرة كالشتاء بغيرها — Shair Al Hamra

Summer in Essaouira is like winter elsewhere;

and her summertime, even at its hottest, is like her winter.

Nothing is more refreshing to the heart than when

the breeze rises over her land from her sea.

The sea submits obediently to her command;

and if one day it rages, it is driven back humbled,

until its waves kiss the hand of her bosom.

Then it returns rejoicing, while the sound of its roar

echoes the beauties’ song for her verse.

It returns delighted to have won her favor,

while the roar of its waters eloquently proclaims its gratitude.

The sight of her form may bewitch the mind—

how delightful she is, in form and enchantment!

Men of distinction have settled in her, with none to equal them

among the worthy, anywhere at all:

her Hilal, her Faqih, and her Sharif,

and her Amin—

her Amin al-Warzazi, valiant and esteemed,

sworn ally of noble virtues and chief at her port.

Travelers ask one another about him when they arrive

from the Red City or from its surrounding region.

If you would summer somewhere, you would never prefer

a parasang elsewhere to a single span of her.

Among her fair sex are nubile maidens

who strut in robes of red and green.

Her eyelids resolved—“jussive”—to plant—“accusative”—against my heart

their lashes; then “raised” them—“nominative”—as arrows to “break” it—“genitive.”

In her side-lock, piercing strands have never ceased

playing within my heart, consummately mastering their turns.

I set out for her, accompanied by a band

whose musk-sweet fragrance grows whenever she is named.

Among them is Muwaffaq—

in him Marrakesh glories above all other cities.

He has never ceased diligently pursuing the branches of learning

until his neck was adorned with their pearls.

The waves follow one another,

and in their wake you see one lovesick for her air.

Ah, would that I knew: shall I be blessed with time in her company?