أَشكو إِلى أَقوشَ عَكسَ اِسمِهِ
لَم يُبقِ مِن جِسمي سِوى رَسمِهِ
To Aqūsh I complain of his name reversed—longing;
I complain to one whose name is the opposite of his nature
it has left of my body nothing but its outline.
He left of my body only its likeness
وَطَرفُهُ مُستَحسَنٌ سُقمُهُ
فَسُقمُ جِسمي فيهِ مِن سُقمِهِ
And his eye’s languor is deemed beautiful;
While his glance is deemed infirm, the infirmity of my body is from his infirmity
so my body’s sickness over him springs from that languor.
He fixed the arrow of the glance in my slaughter
أَثبَتَ سَهمَ اللَّحظِ في مَقتَلي
وا كَبِدي مِنهُ وَمِن سَهمِهِ
He lodged the arrow of his glance in my vital spot.
And my liver is wounded by him and by his arrow
Alas for my liver, because of him and his arrow!
The cheek of dawn is abashed by his face
مِن وَجهِهِ تَخجَلُ شَمسُ الضُحى
في سَعدِها وَالبَدرُ في تِمِّهِ
The midmorning sun blushes before his face,
In its good fortune, and the full moon by its perfection
in its good fortune, as does the full moon at its fullest.
The rose is rendered fragrant by the rose of his cheeks
وَالوَردُ مِن وَردٍ بِخَدَّيهِ مُس
تَحي فَوا شَوقا إِلى لَثمِهِ
And roses, before the roses on his cheeks, are
Yearning unto the savor of their kiss
abashed—oh, how I long to kiss him!
And if the boughs of wishes were as his stature
وَمِن مُنى الأَغصانِ لَو أَنَّها
كَقَدِّهِ آهاً عَلى ضَمِّهِ
And among the boughs’ wishes is that they might be
Alas for joining with him!
like his figure—ah, to embrace him!
And moist pearls when they smile
وَاللُّؤلُؤُ الرَّطبُ مَتى يَبتَسِم
يُلغَ فَما يُرغَبُ في نَظمِهِ
And dewy pearls, whenever he smiles,
Annul any mouth coveted for stringing them
are cast aside; no one wishes to string them.
I complain of the arms of the glance in their war
شاكي سِلاح الطَرفِ في حَربِهِ
لَم يَعدَمِ الشاكي وَفي سِلمِهِ
Fully armed with the weapon of his gaze in war,
The complainant did not lack during his peace
he never lacks a complainer, even at peace.
On the day of battle he destroys his peers
يَفتِكُ بِالأَقرانِ يَومَ الوَغى
وَكَفُّهُ لَم تَبدُ مِن كُمِّهِ
He slays his rivals on the day of battle,
And his palm has not been seen to lack deftness
though his hand has not emerged from his sleeve.
His waist oppresses him, his buttock
فَخَصرُه يظلِمُهُ رِدفُهُ ال
مهتَزُّ وَالمُعتَزُّ في ظُلمِهِ
So his waist is oppressed by his rump,
Swaying, the boastful in his darkness
swaying and proud in its oppression.
Dallying of glances, languorous from
مُعَربِدُ الأَلحاظِ نَشوانُ مِن
مُدامَةٍ تَنفَحُ مِن ظَلمِهِ
Riotous in his glances, intoxicated by
A copiousness exhaling from its darkness
wine whose fragrance wafts from the moisture of his teeth.
As if, in the disposition of beauty without
كَأَنَّهُ في مَيسِرِ الحُسنِ بِال
قِدحِ المُعَلّى فازَ في قِسمِهِ
As though, in beauty’s lottery, with the
Rival, he won in the allotment of his destiny
Muʿallā arrow he had won his allotted share.
The critic makes excuses to him unto the
يَعتَذِرُ العاذِلُ فيهِ إِلى ال
عاشِقِ إِذ يَلقاهُ مِن حَزمِهِ
The censurer apologizes, on his account, to the
Lover when he meets him in his resoluteness
lover when he meets him, out of prudence.
His speech is the permitted sorcery
كَلامُهُ السِحرُ الحَلالُ الَّذي
يَهجُمُبِالقَلبِ عَلى كَلمِهِ
His speech is lawful magic that
That attacks the heart with his talk
drives the heart headlong toward its wounding.
Who sees him one day riding his steed
مَن يَرَهُ في سَرجِهِ راكِضاً
حِصانَهُ يَوماً فَوَيلُ اُمِّهِ
Whoever sees him in his saddle, spurring
In its saddle-cloth - woe to its mother!
his stallion one day—woe to his mother!
Saying, 'become blind' his glance says in the fray
يَقولُ نُعمى لَحظُهُ في الوَغى
فَيَجعَلُ الآسادَ مِن غُنمِهِ
His glance says “Bliss!” in battle,
And makes the lions as his sheep
and so makes lions part of his spoils.
So, if a king saw him, he would become
فَلَو رَآهُ مَلِكٌ صارَ مَم
لوكاً لَهُ قَسراً عَلى رَغمِهِ
So if a king saw him, he would become
A vassal to him perforce against his will
his slave, by force and against his will.
Sol 6.1