أَقولُ لِصاحِبٍ مِن سِرِّ عَبسٍ
أَرى وَردي بِرُؤيَتِهِ وَآسي
I say to a friend of the noblest stock of ʿAbs,
I say to a friend complaining of sadness
In seeing him, I see my roses and my myrtle:
I see my roses through his sight withered
شَكَوتَ قَذىً بِعَينِكَ باتَ يُدمى
كَأَنَّكَ قَد نَظَرتَ إِلى طِماسِ
You complained of a mote in your eye, which bled all night,
You complained of grit in your eye that caused pain
As though you had looked upon Ṭimās—
As if you had looked upon loss
إِلى وَغدٍ يَكادُ يَعودُ فينا
بِرُمحٍ في التِنايَةِ أَو شِماسِ
Upon a wretch who almost brings back among us
To a tomorrow that nearly comes back to us
Rumḥ in farming, or Shimās.
With a spear at dusk or a pickaxe
فَقَدتُكَ يا طِماسُ فَكُلُّ عَيشٍ
بِقُربِكَ أَخشَنُ الجَنَباتِ جاسِ
May I lose you, Ṭimās! For every life
I lost you, oh loss, so all living
Near you is rough on every side and hard.
Is with your nearness rough fabrics, coarse
تَمَخَّطُ لِلزُكامِ وَفيكَ بَردٌ
جُمادِيُّ يُخَبِّرُ عَن قُعاسِ
You blow your nose because of a cold, yet within you is a chill
Sniffling from the cold and in you is ice
Of Jumādā, bespeaking Quʿās.
A freezing February tells of hail
Sol 6.1