إِذا ما غَضوبٌ غاضَبَت كُلَّ رَيبَةٍ

وَكانَت لَميسٌ لا تَقِرُّ عَلى اللَمسِ

When anger rages and every suspicion is inflamed,

And there is a touch that knows no rest,

فَقَد حازَتا فَضلَ الحَياةِ وَعُدَّتا

مَكانَ الثُرَيّا في المَكارِمِ وَالشَمسِ

Then they have attained the excellence of life and are counted

Among the noble and the brilliant.

أَخَمسينَ قَد أَفنَيتُها لَيسَ نافِعي

بِتَأخيرِ يَومٍ أَن أَعَضَّ عَلى خَمسي

Fifty years I have spent uselessly

In putting off a day to gnaw on my five fingers.

نُرَجّي إِياباً مِن غَدٍ وَهُوَ آيِبٌ

وَكانَ صَواباً لَو بَكَينا عَلى أَمسِ

We hope for a return from tomorrow, though it comes,

And it would have been right to weep over yesterday.

وَمازالَ هَذا الجِسمُ مُذ فارَقَ الثَرى

عَلى تَعَبٍ حَتّى أُعيدَ إِلى الرَمسِ

This body has not ceased, since it left the earth,

To toil until it is returned to rot.

أَلَم تَرَ أَيّامَ الفَتى في عِظاتِهِ

بِهَمسٍ تُناجي أَو أَدَقَّ مِنَ الهَمسِ

Did you not see the days of the youth in their sermons

Whispering intimately or softer than a whisper?

تَوَخَّت عَواريَّ المُلوكِ بِرَدِّها

جِهاراً وَآثارَ الأَكارِمِ بِالطَمسِ

The glories of kings were intent on their decline

Openly, and the traces of nobility on their obliteration.

وَلَم تَترُكِ العِزَّ القَديمَ لِفارِسٍ

وَلَم تَرعَ حَقّاً مِن فَوارِسِها الحُمسِ

It left not the old glory to a horseman

And missed no right from its valiant cavaliers.

أَرَتكَ بِرُغمِ الأَنفِ سَيفَ اِبنِ ظالِمٍ

حَمائِلُهُ مَوصولَةٌ بِفَتى الحُمسِ

It showed you despite your nose the sword of the son of an unjust ruler

Its sheaths attached to the youth of resolve.

وَصارَ دَمُ الديكِ المُؤَذِّنِ سُحرَةً

لِأَهلِ المَغاني حُسوَةً لِفَمِ النِّمسِ

And the blood of the rooster who makes the call to prayer became

For the people of pleasures a necklace for the mouth of an effeminate catamite.

وَما سَرَّني أَنّي اِبنُ ساسانَ أَغتَدي

عَلى المَلِكِ في الإيوانِ أُصبِحُ أَو أُمسي

I am not pleased that I, the son of Sasan, lord it

Arrogantly over the king in the palace, morning and evening.