وَدَهماءَ تُرسيها رَقاشٌ إِذا شَتَت

مُرَكَّبَةُ الآذانِ أُمُّ عِيالِ

A pot with handle patched when pots were smashed,

And a blackened pot that Raqash sets up when winter falls,

Its ears embellished, mother of household.

Fitted with handles, a mother to her dependents,

يَغَصَّ بِحَيزومِ الجَرادَةِ صَدرُها

وَيُنضِجُ ما فيها اتِّقادُ ذُبالِ

Her breast constricts around the locust’s throat;

Its breast is so narrow it would choke on the chest of a locust,

Her contents, from the kindling, boil and roast.

And the mere burning of a wick cooks what lies within.

وَتَغلي بِذِكرِ النارِ مِن غَيرِ حَرِّها

وَيُنزِلُها الطاهي بِغَيرِ جِعالِ

She simmers at the mention of the fire—no need

It boils at the mention of fire, without its heat,

For fuel—and the cook extracts her without fee.

And the cook lifts it down without need of a cloth.

وَلَو جِئتَها مَلأى عَبيطاً مُجَزَّلاً

لَأَخرَجتَ ما فيها بِعودِ خِلالِ

If you brought her stuffed full, though cracked and old,

And were you to come to it when full of fresh, carved meat,

With a stick of wormwood, she would still unfold

You could extract all its contents with a toothpick.

هِيَ القِدرُ قِدرُ الشَيخِ بَكرِ بنِ وائِلٍ

رَبيعِ اليَتامى عامَ كُلِّ هُزالِ

All her contents. She is Sheikh Bekr's pot—

It is the pot, the very pot of the Sheikh Bakr bin Wa'il,

In the year of famine, a refuge for each lost child.

The spring for orphans in the year of every famine.