قَد أَسبِقُ الجارِيَةَ الجونا

مِن قَبلِ تَثويبِ المُنادينا

I surpass the nimble doe

I race ahead of the coursing sun,

Before the callers call to prayer

Before the criers sound the prayer begun,

بِكُلِّ مَعروفٍ بِأَعراقِهِ

عَلى عُيونِ الأَرمَنِيِّينا

With every good trait and vein

With a noble bird of famous lineage,

In the eyes of Armenians

Prized in the expert eyes of Armenian lords.

رَبيبُ بَيتٍ وَأَنيسٌ وَلَم

يُربَ بِريشِ الأُمِّ مَحضونا

A homebred, companion though not

A household ward, a gentle friend,

Reared in the feathers of a mother hen

Not raised beneath a mother's brooding wing,

لَم يُنكِهِ جُرحُ حِياصٍ وَلَم

يَبغِ لَهُ بِالثُفلِ تَسكينا

No wound of sword ever marred him

No stitching wound has caused him pain,

Nor did he crave soothing in vileness

Nor did he need a salve to ease the sting.

كُرُّزُ عامٍ صاغَهُ صائِغٌ

لَم يَدَّخِر عَنهُ التَحاسينا

A foal of the year wrought by a craftsman

A molted hawk, one year of age, moulded by a smith,

Who did not spare him refinements

Who spared no art to make him beautiful.

أَلبَسَهُ التَكريزُ مِن حَوكِهِ

وَشياً عَلى الجُؤجُؤِ مَوضونا

Adornment clad him from his stud

The molting process dressed him in its weave,

Placed atop purebred stock

A tight-knit vest of speckled mail upon his breast.

لَهُ حِرابٌ فَوقَ قُفّازِهِ

يَجمَعنَ تَأنيفاً وَتَسنينا

His sheath atop his gauntlet

Upon the glove he wields his distinct spears,

Collects composition and creation

Combining point and edge in deadly tiers.

كُلُّ سِنانٍ عيجَ مِن صَدرِهِ

تَخالُ عِطفَي رَأسِهِ نونا

Each tooth gleaming from his chest

Each talon curves inward from its base,

His bowed neck seems a nun

Like the letter 'Nun' its hook appears to trace.

وَمِنسَرٍ أَكلَفَ فيهِ شَفاً

كَأَنَّهُ عِقدُ ثَمانينا

On a headstall as though bedecked

A dark-hued beak that holds a razor's edge,

With some ropes of coursers

Curved like the fingers shaping 'eighty's' pledge.

في هامَةٍ كَأَنَّما قُنِّعَت

بَعضَ حِبالِ السابِرِيِّينا

And cheekpieces soaked to delight

Set in a head that seems to wear a hood,

The money-changers

Like mesh of fine-wrought mail, for battle good.

وَمُقلَةٍ أَشرِبَ آماقُها

تِبراً يَروقُ الصَيرَفِيِّينا

We unleash him when set loose

And with an eye whose corners are imbued,

Against the infantry, a piercing blade

With gold that makes the jeweler's gaze subdued.

نُرسِلُ مِنهُ عِندَ إِطلاقِهِ

عَلى الكَراكِيِّ دُرَخمينا

A horse whose cruppers bang

We loose him, when the moment comes to flight,

To fire up the elite warriors

Against the cranes, a tyrant in his might.

داهِيَةٌ تَخبِطُ أَعجازُها

خَبطاً يُحِسّيها الأَمَرّينا

The air now inflames them from above

A calamity that strikes them from behind,

Now the lands excite them

A blow that forces bitter death to find.

يَحمي عَلَيها الجَوَّ مِن فَوقِها

حيناً وَيُغريها الأَحايِينا

And they raise a clamor like

He claims the sky above them as his zone,

The hubbub of the thronging mob

Now guarding, now provoking with a drone.

وَهُنَّ يَرفَعنَ صُراخاً كَما

جَهوَرَ في الشَعبِ المُلَبّونا

So a routed foe stuck in his spell

They raise a shriek of terror in the air,

And a vanquished stained by his mud

Loud as the pilgrim crowds at Mecca's prayer.

فَمُقعَصٌ أُثبِتَ في سَحرِهِ

وَخاضِبٌ مِن دَمِهِ الطينا

He struggled in battle a struggle

One struck down instantly, pierced through the lung,

That cast out his entrails

While its lifeblood dyes the clay where it is flung.

قَد مَشَقَتهُ في الحَشا مَشقَةٌ

أَلقَت مِنَ الجَوفِ المَصارينا

We departed with it bearing livers

A savage tear has ripped the belly wide,

In a leather bag, twenty-one

And cast the steaming entrails down the side.

رُحنا بِهِ نَحمِلُ أَكبادَها

في زَورَةٍ عَشراً وَعِشرينا

God granted the heroes their share

We journeyed home with livers as our prize,

Not paralleled by the cravers

Thirty taken in a single rise.

أَعطى البُزاةَ اللَهُ مِن قِسمِهِ

ما لَم يُخَوِّلهُ الشَواهينا

For each beast a morsel like it

God gave the goshawks, from His bounty's store,

In the pot, above or below

Gifts that the peregrines were not destined for.

لِكُلِّ سَبعٍ طُعمَةٌ مِثلَهُ

في القَدرِ إِن فَوقاً وَإِن دونا

For every predator has prey assigned,

By fate's decree, the high and low aligned.