يا رُبَّ غَيثٍ آمِنِ السُروبِ
حُبارِياتِ جَلهَتَي مَلحوبِ
Oh, how many a rain-blessed meadow with secure flocks,
Bustards dwelling on the two banks of Malhub,
فَالقَطَّبِيّاتِ إِلى الذُنوبِ
يَرفُلنَ في بَرانِسٍ قُشوبِ
And in al-Qatabiyyat, stretching to al-Dhunub,
Strutting in clean, hooded cloaks,
مِن حِبَرٍ عولينَ بِالتَهذيبِ
فَهُنَّ أَمثالُ النَصارى الشيبِ
Of striped silk, crafted with refinement,
As though they were grey-haired Christians,
في يَومِ عيدٍ مَبرَزِ الصَليبِ
ذَعَرتُها بِمُلهَبِ الشُؤبوبِ
On a feast day, bringing forth the cross;
I startled them with a falcon, fiery in its assault,
مُفَهَّمٌ إِهابَةَ المُهيبِ
وَكَلِماتِ كُلِّ مُستَجيبِ
Who understands the call of his master,
And the commands of all who summon him.
أَقنى إِلى سائِسَةٍ جَنيبِ
وَقَد جَرى مِنهُ عَلى تَأديبِ
Hook-beaked, obedient to his keeper's lead,
Behaving exactly as his training dictates.
يوفي عَلى قَفّازِهِ المَجوبِ
مِنهُ بِكَفِّ سَبطَةِ التَرحيبِ
He stands high upon his stitched gauntlet,
Held by a hand generous in its welcome,
كَأَنَّها بَراثِنٌ مِن ذيبِ
يَضبِثُهُنَّ في ثَرى مَصوبِ
His talons appearing like the claws of a wolf,
Which he sinks into rain-soaked earth.
إِلى وَظيفٍ فائِقِ الظُنبوبِ
وَجُؤجُؤٍ مِثلَ مَداكِ الطيبِ
Rising to a shank of superior bone,
And a breast smooth like a perfume-grinding stone,
تَحتَ جَناحٍ موجَدِ التَنكيبِ
ذي قَصَبٍ مُستَوفِرِ الكُعوبِ
Beneath a wing strongly jointed at the shoulder,
With quills possessing thick, sturdy nodes,
وَحفِ الظَهارِ عَصِلِ الأُنبوبِ
آنَسَ بَينَ صَردَحٍ وَلوبِ
Thick-feathered on the back, with curved shafts.
He spotted prey between Sardah and Lub,
بِمُقلَةٍ قَليلَةِ التَكذيبِ
طَرّاحَةٍ خَلفَ لَقى الغُيوبِ
With an eye that rarely deceives,
Casting glances beyond what is hidden from view.
فَانقَضَّ مِثلَ الحَجَرِ المَندوبِ
مُنكَفِتاً تَكَفُّتَ الحَنيبِ
Then he swooped down like a hurled stone,
Folding his wings tight like a rushing torrent,
في الشَطرِ مِن حِملاقِهِ المَقلوبِ
عَلى رَفَلٍّ بِالضُحى ضَغوبِ
Aiming toward the target of his upturned gaze,
Upon a trailing bustard crying out in the forenoon,
بِذي نُواسٍ مُرهَفِ الكَلّوبِ
غادَرَ في جُؤشوشِهِ المَثقوبِ
Striking with dangling, hook-sharp talons,
That left within its pierced breast,
جَيّاشَةً تَذهَبُ في أُسلوبِ
بِصائِكٍ مِن عَلَقٍ صَبيبِ
A gushing wound flowing in a stream,
Of sticky, pouring blood.
فَصطادَ قَبلَ ساعَةِ التَأويبِ
خَمسينَ في حِسابِهِ المَحسوبِ
Thus he hunted before the hour of return,
Fifty birds by his calculated count;
فَالقَومُ مِن مُقتَدِرٍ مُصيبِ
وَمُعجَلِ النَشلِ عَنِ التَضهيبِ
The hunting party was split between the capable marksman,
And the one hurrying to pluck, too hungry to roast.
