سَقى الرَبابَ مُجَلجِلُ ال

أَكنافِ لَمّاحٌ بُروقُه

The pitcher rumbling with thunder

Froth foaming in its flashes

جَونٌ تُكَركِرُهُ الصَبا

وَهناً وَتَمريهِ خَريقُه

Passion swirling with the breeze

Its handle creaking, gurgling as it pours

مَريَ العَسيفِ عِشارَهُ

حَتّى إِذا دَرَّت عُروقُه

It marched the barren valley’s expanse

Until its tendrils trickled forth

وَدَنا يُضيءُ صُبابُهُ

غاباً يُضَرِّمُهُ حَريقُه

And nearing, its spout glowed

Only to vanish, its flames extinguished

حَتّى إِذا ما ذَرعُهُ

بِالماءِ ضاقَ فَما يُطيقُه

Until, once filled up

With water, it could take no more

هَبَّت لَهُ مِن خَلفِهِ

ريحٌ يَمانِيَةٌ تَسوقُه

Behind it, a hot wind blew south

Speeding its staggering, faltering course

حَلَّت عَزالِيَهُ الجَنوبُ

فَثَجَّ واهِيَةً خُروقُه

The southern gale assailed its solitude

And it collapsed, broken, awry