بَيْنَ اللَّوَاحِظِ والقُلُوبِ
لا تَنْطفِى نَارُ الحُروبِ
Between glances and hearts,
war’s fire is never quenched.
وَهُنَاكَ لَيْثُ الغَاب يَحْ
ذَرُ فَتْكَةَ الرَّشَأِ الرَّبيبِ
And there the lion of the jungle fears—
—the deadly pounce of the cherished fawn.
وأَنَا الجَرِيحُ بِلَحْظِ مَنْ
تَلْقَاهُ ذَا خَلٍّ خَضِيبِ
And I am wounded by the glance of one
whom you meet, his form stained red.
يُخفى دَمِي وَلَقلَّما
تَخْفَى إشاراتُ المُرِيبِ
He hides my blood—yet seldom
are a culprit’s telltale signs concealed.
Sol 5.6