أَما وَمَسيلٍ ماثِلِ الغَيثِ كَالسَطرِ

كَما أَترَعَ الساقي الزُجاجَةَ بِالخَمرِ

Indeed, by a watercourse where the rain stood like a line of script,

as a cupbearer fills a glass to the brim with wine,

لَقَد بِتُّ بَينَ الرَعدِ وَالقَطرِ أَشتَكي

بِسَمعِيَ مِن وَقرٍ وَظَهرِيَ مِن وَقرِ

I passed the night amid thunder and rain, voicing my complaint,

with two ears afflicted by deafness and two backs burdened by a load.

وَها أَنا مَبلولُ الجَناحِ مِنَ الحَيا

يَصوبُ وَمذعورُ الفِراخِ مِنَ الوَكرِ

And here I am, my wing drenched by the life-giving rain

as it pours down—a frightened fledgling away from the nest.

وَأَسقَيتُها مِن ديمَةٍ إِثرَ ديمَةٍ

فَمالَت بِها الجُدرانُ سَطراً عَلى سَطرِ

And I gave it drink from one steady rain after another,

so the walls swayed with it, course upon course—

فَمِن عارِضٍ يَسقي وَمِن سَقفِ مَجلِسٍ

يُغَنّي وَمِن بَيتٍ يَميلُ مِنَ السُكرِ

with a cloudbank serving drink, and the roof of a hall

singing, and a house reeling from drunkenness.

إِذا ما هَوى رُكنٌ فَأَهوى فَإِنَّني

لَأَشجى مِنَ الخَنساءِ تَبكي عَلى صَخرِ

Whenever a corner collapses, I collapse with it—for surely I

am more grief-stricken than al-Khansāʾ weeping for Ṣakhr.