تَعَيَّفَ الطَيرَ فَأَنبَأنَهُ
أَنَّ اِبنَ لَيلى عَلِقَتهُ عَلوق
The bird met him and told him
That the son of Layla had hung his love-token on high
وَإِنَّ سَجلاً مِن دَمٍ آمِنٍ
أَفرَغَهُ الطَعنُ بِوادي العَقيق
And that a stream of safe blood
Had been spilled by the stab in the valley of Al-‘Aqeeq
يا ناعِيَ الفارِسِ قَد أَصبَحَت
ضِباعُ ذي العَرعَرِ مِنهُ نُغوق
O you who call to mourn the knight—
The hyenas of that howler have become yelping from him
تَعلَمُ مَن تَنعى إِلى قَومِهِ
طارَ ذِراعاكَ بِعَضبٍ ذَلوق
You know who you call to his people—
Your arms have flown with a flexible bow
بُعداً لِأَرماحِ تَميمٍ لَقَد
هَدَدنَ عاديَّ بِناءٍ عَتيق
Away with the spears of Tameem, they have
Threatened an ancient enemy’s building
قَرَعنَ في أَصلٍ كَريمِ الثَرى
وَجُلنَ في فَرعٍ عَزيزِ العُروق
They struck at a noble origin in the earth
And dug into the roots of one with mighty veins
حَدَوا لَهُ مِن حَيثُ لا يَتَّقي
عيراً مِنَ الطَعنِ مِلاءَ الوُسوق
They plotted against him from where he could not beware
A flood of stabs filling the markets
كَأَنَّ ذا المَطلَعَ أَمسى الرَدى
رَصيدَهُ وَاِزوَرَّ عَنهُ الفَريق
As if the one with the rising sun in the morning
Became loss for it and the band withdrew from him
قالَت لَهُ النَفسُ عَلى عارِها
ما لَكَ لا تَنقُضُ هَذا الطَريق
His soul said to him of its shame:
“Why do you not take this route?”
ما كانَ بِالراجِعِ عَن نَهجِهِ
لَو وَقَفَ السَيفُ لَهُ في المَضيق
He who hopes for an unforeseen chance from him
Will not turn back from his path—
لا يَدَعُ الذابِلَ مَن طَعمُهُ
عَلى صَبوحٍ بِدَمٍ أَو غَبوق
Even if the sword stood in his way at the narrow passage
The fading one does not leave one whose taste
كَأَنَّ أَعلاهُ لِسانٌ فَما
يَغُبُّهُ الدَهرُ بَلالٌ بِريق
Is of blood in the morning or unripe dates
It is as if its upper part is a tongue, so
كَم باتَ رَبّاءً لِسَيّارَةٍ
طارِقَةٍ غَيرَ أَوانِ الطُروق
Time does not make it disappear with a fleeting moisture
How many nights did he spend sleepless,
في قُنَّةٍ عَيطاءَ مَمطولَةٍ
كَأَنَّها قُلَّةُ رَأسٍ حَليق
Stirred by a night-traversing caravan,
In a spacious howdah, stretched out,
يُزايِلُ اللَيلَ عَلى رَحلِهِ
وَيُؤثِرُ القَومَ بِطُعمِ الخُفوق
As if it were the head of a shaven man
He challenges the night with his saddlebags
وَيَغتَدي بَعدَ عِراكِ السُرى
يُعارِضُ الرَكبَ بِوَجهٍ طَليق
And favors the people with the taste of truffles
And after the struggle of the pack-saddles
أَوفى كَما جَلّى عَلى رَهوَةٍ
أَزرَقُ والى نَظَراتٍ بِنيق
He competes with the caravan with a cheerful face
Loyal as he seemed with a blue glance
يَسُلُّ عَينَيهِ عَلى مِريَةٍ
عَن زَجَلِ الطَيرِ قُبَيلَ الشُروق
And tender gazes, refined
Dashing his eyes on some object of doubt
يَعتَرِقُ اللَحمَ عَلى بارِقٍ
وَيَنتَقي العَظمَ بِرَملِ الشَقيق
Before the warbling of the birds at dawn
Searing flesh on burning coals
أَو حَيَّةُ الرَعنِ ذَوى رَأسَهُ
مُشتَرِقَ الشَمسِ بِطَودٍ زَليق
And choosing bone with the pebbles of musk willow
Or the snake of the meadow turned away its head
يَعقُدُ أولاهُ بِأُخراتِهِ
لِفافَ بِنتِ الرَقَمِ الخَنفَقيق
As the rising sun shone on a smooth hill
It coils its head with its tail
كَعِمَّةِ الأَلوَثِ مالَت بِهِ
بَينَ النَدامى نَزَواتُ الرَحيق
Wrapped like the daughter of palm branches entwined
It twisted around with its slanting body
جامِعُ لينٍ وَصِيالٍ مَعاً
إِطراقَ ذي حِلمٍ وَصَولِ الحَنيق
Between the snaky twists of the palm frond
Uniting gentleness and zeal together
يُديرُ في فيهِ ذَليقَ الشَبا
مِثلَ لِماظِ الرَجُلِ المُستَذيق
Retiring with forbearance and passionate determination
He turns the saliva of youth in his mouth
تَخالُ ما تَطرَحُ أَشداقُهُ
ما لَطَّخَ المَحضَ بِقَعبِ الغَبوق
Like the mature man tasting carefully
It seems whatever his jaws put forth
مُستَجمِعٌ فَرَّقَ عَن وَثبَةٍ
نَشطَكَ حَبلَ العَرَبيَّ الرَبيق
Did not stain the pure with the mud of dense darkness
Prepared, it scattered apart from a leap—
نِعمَ كِعامُ الثَغرِ يَشجو بِهِ
فَمَ المَنايا وَنِصاحُ الفُتوق
Your rope, O Arab, was slack
Good, like the rain of his mouth it waters
تَضُمُّهُ في الرَوعِ مِن دِرعِهِ
أُمٌّ لَها مِنهُ أَذىً أَو عُقوق
The mouths of calamities and the preaching of ascetics
It embraces him in fear for his coat of mail
زالَ وَأَبقى عِندَ أَعقابِهِ
خَديمَ مالٍ عَرَفَتهُ الحُقوق
A mother who has injury or disobedience from him
He is gone but left behind him
مَضى وَوَصّاهُم بِأَن يَقبَلوا
دَعوى العِدا فيهِم وَحُكمَ الصَديق
A servant of wealth whose rights are recognized
He passed away, commanding them to accept
كانَ هَوىً لِلنَفسِ لَو أَنَّني
في حَلَقِ القِدِّ وَأَنتَ الطَليق
The claim of enmity among them and the judgment of a friend
It would have been passion for the soul if I were
ما كُنتُ بِالهائِبِ طُرقَ الرَدى
ما سَلِمَ العَضبُ وَأَنتَ الرَفيق
In the prime of youth and you were the departing one
I would not be the shunner of fate’s roads—
ما أَنا بِاللاقي بِذاتِ النَقا
خَيلَ وَغىً مُشعَلَةً بِالعَنيق
The temper would be safe and you the companion
I am not the one who meets the striking
ماطَلَها الماءَ فَلَمّا سَلَت
عَنِ الرَوى ماطَلَها بِالعَليق
Of cavalry stirred with passion for battle
It extended to the water but when it asked
وَلِاِبنُ لَيلى عارِضاً رُمحَهُ
يَحدو بِخَفّانَ جِمالاً وَنوق
About drinking it extended to the pasture
And the son of Layla, crossing his spear—
يَأبى إِذا الضَيمُ غَدا مُضغَةً
سَلسالَةً سائِغَةً في الحُلوق
It runs with beautiful, smooth-stepping horses
It refuses, when injustice becomes a morsel,
يَروحُ مَن يَرجو لَهُ غُرَّةً
قَد خَضخَضَ السَجلَ بِجالٍ عَميق
A delicious chain in the throats
He in whom a surprise is hoped goes easily—
يُحَدِّثُ النَفسَ بِما فاتَهُ
تَطاوُلَ الغَمرِ لِمَجنى السَحوق
He gurgled the bloody stream with a deep pool
It speaks to the soul of what escaped it
اِستَبدَلَ الحَيُّ بِعِقبانِهِ
أَغرِبَةً بَعدَكَ حُمقَ النَغيق
As the rolling cloud of destruction mounted
The living replaced its heels
خاطَرَتِ الشَولُ بِأَذنابِها
لَمّا اِنطَوى قَرقارُ ذاكَ الفَنيق
With more foolish than the wailing of the little owl
The foxes wagged their tails
قَد نَطَقَ الصامِتُ مِن بَعدِهِ
وَأَصرَدَ النابِلُ بَعدَ المُروق
When the clucking of that artful one was silenced
The silent one has spoken since him
مَخيلَةٌ لا مَطَرٌ خَلفَها
تَلمَعُ مِنها شَوَلانُ البُروق
And the camel grunted after being milked
An imagination, with no rain behind it,
ما الحَيُّ بِالضاحِكِ عَن مِثلِهِ
وَلا وُجوهُ الحَيِّ مُذ غابَ روق
Flashes from which the lightnings of the rain appear
The living one does not laugh at his like,
وَلا أَغَبُّ الأَرضَ تُمسى بِها
ظِلٌّ صَفيقٌ وَنَسيمٌ رَقيق
Nor the faces of the living since the departure of joy
I do not neglect your grave out of grief—
لا أَغفَلَت قَبرَكَ حَنّانَةٌ
خَرقاءُ بِالقَطرِ صَناعِ البُروق
A patchwork cloak with rain the work of the maker of lightning
How creation excelled in what it reaped!
ما أَبدَعَ المِقدارُ فيما جَنى
لَكِنَّهُ حَمَّلَ غَيرَ المُطيق
But it burdened other than the able one.
