لَعَمري لَقَد ناطَت هَوازِنُ أَمرَها
بِمُستَربِعينَ الحَربَ شُمِّ المَناخِرِ
By my life, Hawazin has indeed entrusted its cause
to men strong enough to shoulder war, proud and high of nose—
مَراجيحُ في الميزانِ لا يَستَخِفُّهُم
سُلَيمٌ وَلا أَمثالُ رَهطِ المُساوِرِ
men weighty in the balance, whom neither Sulaym
nor the likes of al-Musawir’s band can treat as light.
إِذا المَلكُ آلى أَن يُقيمَ قَناتَنا
فَلَيسَ عَلَينا يَومَ ذاكَ بِقادِرِ
If the king swears that he will straighten our spear,
that day he will have no power over us.
إِذا الأَصيَدُ الجَبّارُ صَعَّرَ خَدَّهُ
أَقَمنا لَهُ مِن خَدِّهِ المُتَصاعِرِ
When a proud, tyrannical lord turns his cheek aside,
we straighten that haughtily averted cheek for him
بِضَربَةِ سَيفٍ أَو بِنَجلاءَ ثَرَّةٍ
إِذا نَشَجَت مَجَّت دِماءَ الأَباهِرِ
with a sword-stroke, or a broad, freely gushing wound
that, when it sobs, spits out the blood of the great arteries.
فَلَو كُنتَ يا اِبنَ الصَعقِ إِذ كُنتَ عامِلاً
صَبَرتَ وَلَيسَ العامِرِيُّ بِصابِرِ
If only, son of al-Sa‘iq, when you held command,
you had stood firm—but an Amiri does not endure.
لَهانَ عَلَينا وَالَّذي أَنا عَبدُهُ
دُعاؤُكَ في أَرماحِنا يالَ عامِرِ
By Him whose servant I am, it would have mattered little to us—
your cry amid our spears: “O House of Amir!”
وَلَكِنَّما لاقَيتَ حَيّاً جَنابَةً
قَفا العَينِ فَاِستَعجَلتَ نَقدَ الصَرائِرِ
But you encountered a people unfamiliar to your eyes,
unseen before, and hastened to assay their hidden mettle.
إِذا عارِضٌ مِنّا أَبادَ قَبيلَةً
أَبانَ لِأُخرى صَوبَ آخَرَ ماطِرِ
Whenever one storm cloud of ours annihilates a people,
it shows another the downpour of yet another rain cloud.
أَمَعشَرَ قَيسٍ طالَما قَد بَطِنتُمُ
مِنَ الخُبثِ فَاِطوُوا مِن بُطونِ الخَواصِرِ
O host of Qays, long have you filled your bellies
with vileness; now draw in the flanks of those bellies.
وَسيروا إِلى الأَرضِ الَّتي تَعرِفونَها
يَكُن ذادُكُم فيها فَصيدَ الأَباعِرِ
Go on to the land that you know;
there let your provisions be blood drawn from camels.
كُلوا الكَلبَ وَاِبنَ العَيرِ وَالباقِعَ الَّذي
يَبيتُ يَعُسُّ اللَيلَ أَهلَ المَقابِرِ
Eat dog, the wild ass’s foal, and that pied scavenger
that spends the night prowling among the graveyard folk.
فَلَولا قُرَيشٌ عولِجَت قُمَّلِيَّةٌ
عَلى أَعجَفِ الذِفرى دَقيقِ المَشافِرِ
Were it not for Quraysh, a lice-ridden woman would have been made to copulate
atop a man hollow behind the ear and thin-lipped—
كَأَنَّ غَراضيفَ اِستِها حَولَ أَيرِهِ
وَحَجمَ تَراقيها سَكاكينُ جازِرِ
as though the gristly folds of her anus around his penis
and the jut of her collarbones were a butcher’s knives.
