أَرى شَجَراً في السَماءِ اِحتَجَب
وَشَقَّ العَنانَ بِمَرأى عَجَب
I see a tree in the sky that hid away,
And broke the reins in amazing display,
مَآذِنُ قامَت هُنا أَو هُناكَ
ظَواهِرُها دَرَجٌ مِن شَذَب
Minarets erected here and there,
Their features, steps made with great care,
وَلَيسَ يُؤَذِّنُ فيها الرِجالُ
وَلَكِن تَصيحُ عَلَيها الغُرُب
No men make the call to prayer in them,
But sunsets cry out as dusk makes its hymn,
وَباسِقَةٍ مِن بَناتِ الرِمالِ
نَمَت وَرَبَت في ظِلالِ الكُثُب
And tall ones amid daughters of sands,
Grew and nurtured in shades of dunes.
كَسارِيَةِ الفُلكِ أَو كَالمِسَل
لَةِ أَو كَالفَنارِ وَراءَ العَبَب
Like ship masts or caravans’ flags,
Or lighthouses beyond the crags,
تَطولُ وَتَقصُرُ خَلفَ الكَثيبِ
إِذا الريحُ جاءَ بِهِ أَو ذَهَب
Swaying short and tall behind a dune,
When the wind blows or goes immune.
تُخالُ إِذا اِتَّقَدَت في الضُحى
وَجَرَّ الأَصيلُ عَلَيها اللَهَب
Appearing like flames at dawn’s first light,
With dawn’s rays or clouds’ fringes bright,
وَطافَ عَلَيها شُعاعُ النَهارِ
مِنَ الصَحوِ أَو مِن حَواشي السُحُب
And Pharaoh’s summering consort on a yard,
Of the palace, waiting and on guard,
وَصيفَةَ فِرعَونَ في ساحَةٍ
مِنَ القَصرِ واقِفَةً تَرتَقِب
Adorned with carnelian necklaces fine,
Joined with pieces of gold that shine,
قَدِ اِعتَصَبَت بِفُصوصِ العَقيقِ
مُفَصَّلَةً بِشُذورِ الذَهَب
And pearls around her neck descended,
And silk around her waist upended,
وَناطَت قَلائِدَ مَرجانِها
عَلى الصَدرِ وَاِتَّشَحَت بِالقَصَب
From her head to toes in a sash knitted,
Is this the palm tree, meadows’ prince,
وَشَدَّت عَلى ساقِها مِئزَراً
تَعَقَّدَ مِن رَأسِها لِلذَنَب
Master of fields, dunes’ bride to convince,
Food of poor and candy of rich,
أَهَذا هُوَ النَخلُ مَلكُ الرِياضِ
أَميرُ الحُقولِ عَروسُ العِزَب
Travelers’ and emigrants’ cache.
Oh palm tree of the sand, you never stint,
طَعامُ الفَقيرِ وَحَلوى الغَنِيِّ
وَزادُ المُسافِرِ وَالمُغتَرِب
Nor do palms of dust their yield stint,
Most wondrous is how your fame waned,
فَيا نَخلَةَ الرَملِ لَم تَبخَلي
وَلا قَصَّرَت نَخَلاتُ التُرَب
As Arab poets no more remained,
Is it not so wrong poetry devoid,
وَأَعجَبُ كَيفَ طَوى ذِكرَكُنَّ
وَلَم يَحتَفِل شُعَراءُ العَرَب
Of describing you, books occulted.
You are, in emigrants, shady and grand,
أَلَيسَ حَراماً خُلُوُّ القَصا
ئِدِ مِن وَصفِكُنَّ وَعُطلُ الكُتُب
As though your tops touch the clouds’ stand,
You are, in the desert, ewe that feeds many a mouth,
وَأَنتُنَّ في الهاجِراتِ الظِلالُ
كَأَنَّ أَعالِيَكُنَّ العَبَب
Besides another, milking throughout,
You are, in the mansions’ yards, beautiful columns, adorning the wide.
وَأَنتُنَّ في البيدِ شاةُ المُعيلِ
جَناها بِجانِب أُخرى حَلَب
Your yields, in taste, are of generosity wide,
And like honey, in each color, craved.
وَأَنتُنَّ في عَرَصاتِ القُصورِ
حِسانُ الدُمى الزائِناتُ الرَحَب
جَناكُنَّ كَالكَرمِ شَتّى المَذاقِ
وَكَالشَهدِ في كُلِّ لَونٍ يُحَب
