Sol 5.6

  1. From the sun I have a little golden maidservant;

    I care not when winter comes.

  2. Nor for bitter cold, should a clou—

    —d arise: the air is my clothing and my mantle.

  3. The earth and open air are my house; its wa—

    —ll is the horizon around it, its roof the abode of heaven.

  4. If you saw me in sun and cold, my body worn—

    —away, you would say I was a mote of dust.

  5. In night and day, forever—

    —I have solace that never ends, and bliss.

  6. Thus daybreak, for what it brings, is

    my beloved; evening is its watchman.

  7. People reviled me as a pagan—

    what designs they harbored, what whims they have!

  8. They judged me by appearances when they saw me

    a servant of the Sun, one whom darkness pains.

  9. Indeed, since winter’s season bore down on my bo—

    —dy, its clothes have laid the limbs bare.

  10. In it my bone is al-Mubarrad—the chilled one—when sca—

    —rce is al-Kisāʾī, and al-Farrāʾ takes shelter.

  11. Ah, alas! Gone is my li—

    —fe; my lot is regret and misery.

  12. Whenever I said, “Tomorrow I shall attain my desi—”

    —re,” tomorrow came with what I did not wish.

  13. I am not one to single out a day with my complai—

    —nt, for all days are alike to me.

  14. My thought is bewildered and my breast constricted; even if space contai—

    —ned my cares, it would be too narrow for them.

  15. Each day I grant my heart, through thou—

    —ght, a bliss that returns as misery.

  16. Would that I knew when my poetry will free it

    from my conjectures, in which thought still hopes.

  17. Do you think I shall live until the peo—

    —ple say, “In him are integrity and pride”?

  18. O my heart, be patient: the da—

    —ys have never ceased to hold both ease and adversity.

  19. O heart—after your parting, the brea—

    —st is estranged; and so are all strangers.

  20. In his rank and character, ami—

    —d the noon-heat of calamities, I have shade and water.

  21. O prince, heed the plea of a servant

    whose constant habit has become sorrow and weeping.

  22. He died poor; the root of it was when there di—

    —ed, of meanness, souls that were living still.

  23. Ask me not about them: your servant is, in poe—

    —try, beloved, while they are its enemies.

  24. They kept me far away for fear of gratitude,

    until they made me think praise itself was satire.

  25. To your noble justice I complain of the injus—

    —tice of the nights; do, then, whatever you wish.

Sol 5.6