إِنّي عَلى ما نالَني لَصَبورُ

وَبِغَيرِ حُسنِ تَجَلُّدٍ لَجَديرُ

For all that has befallen me, I am indeed patient,

though I have cause for anything but noble self-command.

أَعزِز بِعَيّاشٍ عَلَيَّ مُغَيَّباً

في غَيرِ حُفرَتِهِ الحِجى وَالخيرُ

How grievous to me that ʿAyyāsh should lie hidden away—

while wisdom and goodness lie outside his grave!

فَكَّت أَكُفُّ المَوتِ غُلَّ قَصائِدي

عَنهُ وَضَيغَمُها عَلَيهِ يَزيرُ

Death’s hands have broken the fetter that held my poems

back from him; now their lion roars against him.

ما زالَ غُلُّ الذَمِّ ثانِيَ عِطفِهِ

حَتّى أَتاهُ المَوتُ وَهوَ أَسيرُ

The collar of blame kept his neck forever bent

until death came to him while he was still a captive.

مِن بَعدِ ما نَزَّهتُ في سَوآتِهِ

حَسَناتِ شِعرٍ بَحرُهُنَّ بُحورُ

This, after I had ranged through all his shameful traits

with lovely verses whose meters are seas upon seas.

وَبَقيتُ لَولا أَنَّني في طَيِّئٍ

عَلَمٌ لَقالَ الناسُ أَنتَ جَريرُ

And I remain—were I not, among Ṭayyiʾ,

so famed, people would say: “You are Jarīr.”

يا عِبرَةَ اللَهِ الَّتي مِن طَرزِها

نَشَأوا فَكانَ القِردُ وَالخِنزيرُ

O warning fashioned by God, from whose very pattern

sprang the ape and the swine!

لَو كانَ لِلجَمَلِ المُجَلَّلِ ريشَةٌ

ما شَكَّ خَلقٌ أَنَّهُ سَيَطيرُ

Had the caparisoned camel but a feather,

no creature would doubt that it could fly.

وَأَرى نَكيراً صَدَّ عَنكَ وَمُنكَراً

ظَناً بِأَنَّكَ مُنكَرٌ وَنَكيرُ

I think Nakīr recoiled from you, and Munkar too,

supposing that you yourself were Munkar and Nakīr.

وَتَضَوَّرَ القَبرُ الَّذي أُسكِنتَهُ

حَتّى ظَنَنّا أَنَّهُ المَقبورُ

The grave in which you were lodged writhed in agony

until we thought that it was the one interred.