هو الوجدُ ما بالي أنؤُ بحملِه

ضلالاً كأنَّي ما مُنيتُ بمثلِهِ

It is passion that makes me bear its burden,

Leading me astray as if I had not experienced its like before,

هوًى يقتضي كلَّ يومٍ برحلةٍ

على ظهرِ نضوٍ يشتكي ثِقْلَ رحلِهِ

A desire that demands a journey every day

On the back of a young camel complaining of the heaviness of its load,

يجاذبُني فضلَ الزمامِ كأنَّه

يحاذِرُ خوفاً منه نهشةَ صِلَّهِ

It pulls me roughly by the bridle as if

Fearing that I would slip out and escape its grip,

اِذا ما عداهُ الوِردُ سارَ ميمَّماً

على ثقةٍ مِن وبلِ دمعي وطَلَّهِ

If the flowers distract it, it continues solemnly

Trusting in my flowing tears and my yearning,

يسابقُ ظِلمانُ النعامِ فكلَّما

عَجَزْنَ انبرى يختالُ في سَبْقِ ظِلَّهِ

It races the shadows of ostriches so whenever

They become exhausted it prides itself on outpacing their shadows,

خليليَّ ما لي لا أرى غيرَ صاحبٍ

اِذا ما رأى وجدي رماني بعذلِهِ

My friend, why do I see none but a companion

Who, when he sees my passion, berates me for it?

غدا وهو مشغولٌ بعذْلي فليتَهُ

رثى لي مِنَ الداءَينِشُغلي وشُغلِهِ

Tomorrow he busies himself blaming me while he himself

Should sympathize with me for sharing my torment and his,

اِذا لم يكن خِلُّ يرجَّى لحادثٍ

يُلِمُّ على مَرَّ الزمانِ فخلَّهِ

If passion does not torment my heart

Then I am not of the company of love and its people,

وذي عَيَنٍ أبدى نصالَ جفونهِ

فأغنتْهُ يومَ الجِزْعِ عن رَشْقِ نَبْلهِ

With eyes that have always revealed the blades of their lids

Their streaming saved them on days of sorrow from having to draw swords,

غزالٌ غدا قلبي له دونَ حاجرٍ

كِناساً وأين القلبُ مِن قُضبِ أثلِهِ

A gazelle has become my heart’s home, no longer fixed

Like a tent peg-where can the heart be found but in the dwelling of its likes?

يَهُزُّ قناةَ القدَّ في مَعْرَكِ النوى

فأُمسي طعيناً بين كُثبانِ رملهِ

It shakes the bow of the slim waist in the battle of amorous play

So I spend the night moaning among sand dunes,

وما شاءَ فليزددْ دلالاً فاِنَّني

صبورٌ على حُكْمِ التجنَّي لأجلهِ

Let him continue to show more charm, for I

Have patience for separation's judgment for his sake,

فوا عجباً ما لي أهيمُ بكلَّهِ

وتُعجرُني الأسقامُ عن حملِ كَلَّهِ

How strange! Why do I obsess over him

When sickness prevents me from bearing any of it?

وكنتُ بِعِدَّ الدمعِ ألقى فراقَهُ

فكيف تراني صانعاً بأقلهِ

I used to discard tears so how do you see me

Clinging to even the slightest memory?

رثى لي أناسٌ لا رَثَوا لي مِنَ الجوى

غداةَ النوى مِن فيضِ دمعي وفِعْلِهِ

Some pitied me, but did not pity me for passion

The morning after intimacy from the overflow of my tears and deeds,

اِذا هبَّتِ الريحُ الشَّمالُ وجَدْتُني

أسائلُها عن جمعِ شملي بشملِهِ

When the north wind blows, it finds me

Asking about being reunited with him,

كأنَّ لهذا البعدِ عندي كما أرى

ذُحولاً فما ينفكُّ طالبَ ذَحلِهِ

As if this distance seems to have, as I see,

Humps so the seeker of the beloved cannot be released from seeking them out,

إِذا لم يكن في الحبَّ قلبي معذَّباً

فما أنا مِن ركبِ الغرامِ وأهلِهِ

If my heart is not tortured by love,

Then I am not of the caravan of love and its people,

ومرَّ نسيمٌ بتُّ أسألُ نفحَهُ وقد كانَ

لولا الهجرُ مِن بعضِ رُسْلِهِ

A breeze passed by the daughter of the tribe and I asked its gentle blow

But without separation, how some of his messengers?

تلقَّيتُه أبغي الشفاءَ كعهدِنا

به عند اِهداءِ السلامِ ونقلِهِ

I received it hoping for healing as we used to

When conveying greetings and messengers,

فلم أرَ فيه غيرَ ما يبعثُ الجوى

لقلبي ويكفيهِ تعذُّرُ وصلِهِ

But I saw in it nothing but what stirs the passion

In my heart, and that is enough to make his visit impossible,

غرامٌ يريني كلَّ يومٍ أدلَّةً

بأنَّ المنايا بينَ ذُلَّي ودَلَّهِ

A love that shows me each day proofs

That death lies between my disgrace and dishonor,

وقد كانَ قبلَ البينِ بالوصلِ ماطلاً

ومَنْ لي بعصرِ القربِ منه ومطلِهِ

Before separation he used to procrastinate meeting me

But who can help me in the time of proximity and his view?

ومَنْ لي بأنْ تدنوا الديارُ وأنْ أرى

يدَ الجَوْرِ قد شُلَّتْ بسلطانِ عدلِهِ

And who can help bring the houses closer so I can see

The hand of injustice paralyzed by the authority of his justice?

مقالةُ ذي شوقٍ يذوبُ صبابةً

الى شهدِ فيه لا إلى شهدِ نحِلهِ

The words of one burning with longing, melting with love

Not for the bees' honey but for the honey of his lips,

ومنْ لي بأيامِ النُخَيلِ وطيبِها

حنيناً إلى مَنْ حلَّ أفياءَ نخِلهِ

And who can help me with the days of vitality and their goodness

Yearning for the one who made its lofty date palms fruitful?

همُ كلَّفوني جوبَ كلِّ تنوفةٍ

تَشُقُّ على قُبِّ الفريقِ وبُزلِهِ

They tasked me with traversing every difficult mountain path

That tries the clan's leader and his retinue,

يُروِّعها منه أعالي هضابِهِ

ويَذعِرُها فيه تباعدُ هَجْلِهِ

Frightening them with its high plateaus

And terrifying them with the great distance between its dunes,

يميناً بمجدولِ الذراعينِ تامك

يَرَى غَبنَاً أن يُستضامَ بجَدْلِهِ

Leaning to the right with braided arms it resents

Being deemed inferior and disparaged for its twisting,

اِذا ما سرى والليلُ في لونِ حِلْسهِ

أرتني عيونُ الشوقِ آثارَ سُبلِهِ

When the night flows in the color of its darkness

The eyes of passion show me the traces of its paths,

وما الشوقُ إلا في فؤادِ علمتُه

وكلُّ سرورٍ عادهُ لم يُسَلِّهِ

What is passion but what I knew to be in my heart?

Every joy it brought back did not make me forget it,

حِفاظاً وأيُّ الناسِ تبقى عهودُه

على غدرِ أبناءِ الزمانِ وخَتْلِهِ

Faithfully remembering-but which people's pacts

Remain with the treachery of time and its termination?

أرى البرقَ خفّاقَ الوميضِ كأنَّه

فؤادي وقد عانيتُ هِزَّةَ نصلِهِ

I see lightning, flashing, as if

It were my heart, having experienced the trembling of its blades,

وما حلَّ مِن خيطِ الغمامِ فأدمعي

تُخَجِّلُ ماجادَ الغمامُ بحلِّهِ

Whatever is unleashed from the rain cloud, my tears

Embarrass even the clouds' downpour,

وما زالَ دمعي عندما يَبْخَلُ الحيا

جواداً على بالي الديارِ بهطلِهِ

My tears are still, whenever the clouds are miserly,

Generous to my mind, raining the land with their outpouring,

ومُسخبرِ الرُّكبانِ عَجَّرَهُ الهوى

وناهيكَ عن ثِقْلِ القميص وثِقْلِهِ

The guide of the traveling party, passion deformed it

Not to mention the weight of the shirt and its own weight,

تعرَّضَ يبغي في النسيمِ مِنَ الحِمى

سلاماً فما مرَّ النسيمُ بحملِهِ

It turned hoping to find in the breeze a cure for the fever

But the breeze did not carry it,

يشبِّبُ مِن فرطِ الولوعِ بهندِه

وَينسُبُ مِن حرِّ الفراقِ بجُملِهِ

It raves deliriously from excessive burning with passion for Hind

And it traces its lineage due to the burning heat of separation to the camel,

صبورٌ على حكمِ التفرُّقِ والقِلى

شكورٌ لتقليدِ الوصالِ وعزلِهِ

Patient with the judgment of separation and moving camp,

Grateful for the tradition of intimacy and its termination,

لأفلحُ مَنْ لم يعرفِ الشوقَ دهرَهُ

ولا سارَ في حَزْنِ الغرامِ وسهلِهِ

Whoever does not know passion all his life succeeds,

And does not walk in the sorrow of love and its plains,

ولستُ على أزْمِ الفراقِ بآيسٍ

بِانَّ دنواَّ الدارِ يودي بأزلِهِ

And I do not despair of the pain of separation,

That the approaching of the house will do away with its misery,

فأين رجالُ النقدِ دونهمُ الذي

أنضِّدُ مِن جِدِّ القريضِ وهَزلِهِ

Where are the men of integrity? I composed poetry of valor and jest,

If my poem did not win in the yard of prosody by some part,

فِانْ لم يكنْ في حَلْبةِ النَّظمِ سابقاً

فما فازَ قدْحي في الَّرهانِ بخَصْلِهِ

What is poetry but the novel in its words

Held captive by the subtlety of speech and its smoothness?

وما الشِّعرُ إلا ما يكونُ بديعُه

حبيساً على دِقِّ الكلام وجِلَّهِ

Were it not for passion or the rank of understanding I would not

Have chosen the talent of serious thought unexpectedly with its gravity,

ولولا الهوى أو رتبةُ الفهمِ لم ارُضْ

قرائحَ فكرٍ جَدَّ عفواً بجزلِهِ

If I do not approve and am not pleased that it

Be seen though the star's place is below its place,

وان كنتُ لا أرضى ولم يرضَ أنِّه

يُرى ومحلُّ النجمِ دونَ مَحَلِّهِ

What is superiority but one whose poetry

Expresses in every language the elegance of its superiority?

وما الفضلُ إلا مَن يُعبِّرُ شِعرُهُ

بكلِّ لسانٍ عن نباهةِ فضلِهِ

So why were they dumbfounded in the face of truth

When I escaped the heat of speech with its class?

فما بالهمْ عندَ الحقيقةِ أفحِموا

وقد فُزْتُ مِن حرِّ الكلامِ بفصلِهِ

To them: my thought is the polish of poetry just as

You like the composition of verse for its polish,

اليهمْ ففكري صيقلُ الشِّعرِ مثلما

يروقكَ متنُ المَشرَفيِّ بصقلِهِ

What is the sword but the man's awesomeness within it

And his greatest fear the moment of its drawing?

وما السيفُ إلا فيه للمرءِ روعةٌ

وأعظمُ ما يخشاه ساعةَ سَلِّهِ