سلام عليكم لا وفاء ولا عهد — Albohtry

Peace be upon you—no loyalty and no pledge!

Have you no escape from forsaking your beloveds?

O our beloveds, separation has fulfilled its promise

swiftly, yet no promise from you has been fulfilled for us.

O ruins of al-Amiriyya's dwelling at al-Liwa,

may the rain-bearing stars water your dwelling; what has become of Hind?

O dwelling at al-Liwa, between al-Sarima and al-Hima,

has love no aim but lingering heartache?

My life for the one with whose love I have tormented myself,

even though neither union nor affection comes from him.

A beloved among beloveds, carried far away by separation—

and what beloved has distance not kept beyond reach?

When you cross the desert of al-Ghuwayr, heading west,

and the gravel plain of al-Sawajir lies behind you, O Sa'd,

then tell the sons of al-Dahhak: Take care, for I

am the deadly male viper and the tawny lion.

Sons of Wasil, take care, for your sister's son

has resolves whose counsels are earnest even in jest.

Whenever you provoke him, you provoke nothing but death,

and though he is gallant, no knot of his can be undone.

Awe-inspiring as a sword blade—were he hurled against

the peaks of Aja, its heights would be left as hollows.

Some men wish that I were among those

whom death has folded away, no longer going out at dusk or dawn.

Were it not that I bear the burden of every calamity

that grieves my enemies, they would not wish what they wish.

Leave me to them; my firm resolve is enough for me

when no fire-stick sparks for one who would quench war.

And I have a companion, a keen-edged, cutting sword,

long of baldric, with an edge that is never blunted.

And many a weeping woman laments parting with tears

that rush forth in torrents like a necklace's scattered beads.

Be wise; do not grieve at the departure of a son of high ambition,

who yearns for the heights and has no equal.

For whoever is free belongs to resolve and night travel,

and, in his deeds, is a slave to night and sleep.

And many a night, as though the dawn at its far end

were a sliver of a blade whose watered pattern a sheath enfolded,

I wore as a cloak while the wolf lay drowsy and sleeping,

with the eye of a son of night who knows no sleep.

I rouse the dusky sandgrouse from their roosts,

and foxes and gray ostriches grow familiar with me in it.

And a dusky wolf, filling the eye, bearing his breast

and the ribs of both his flanks on powerful limbs.

He has a tail like a well-rope, which he drags,

and a back like a bow's back, crooked and bent.

Hunger had wasted him until his resolve hardened,

so there was nothing in him but bone, spirit, and skin.

He clacks crooked fangs, death lodged in their grooves,

like the teeth-chattering of a chilled man made to shiver by cold.

He advanced toward me; I had the same fierce hunger as he,

in a wasteland where no life of plenty could be found.

Each of us there was a wolf, thinking to himself

of his companion, and fortune brings fortune to grief.

He howled, then sat on his haunches; I chanted rajaz verse and provoked him.

Then he advanced like lightning followed by thunder.

So I made him swallow a piercing arrow; you would think its feathers

rode a falling star, while the night was pitch-black.

Yet he only grew in boldness and resolve,

and I knew for certain that he was in earnest.

I followed it with another and buried its point

where reason, terror, and hatred dwell.

Then he fell, and I had brought him to death's watering-place,

still thirsty—if only the draught had been sweet.

I rose, gathered pebbles, and roasted him

on that gravel, with the hot ground blazing beneath him.

And I took a meager portion of him, then left him,

and withdrew from him as he lay dust-strewn and alone.

The nights have indeed judged us unjustly,

and the judgment of Time's daughters has no fairness.

Is it justice that the noble man suffer their injustice,

while the idle wretch takes their choicest share?

Spare me the casting of divining arrows concerning night travel;

my resolve is not turned aside by ill fortune or good.

I shall compel myself, at every calamity,

to face the like of a sword's edge, refined by India,

so that whoever fears night travel for dread of death may know

that God's decree cannot be turned back.

For if you live praised, one like me has sought wealth

to earn money or have praise spread for him.

And if I die without success, no more is required of a man

who sets forth in quest than thorough pursuit and effort.