سما كبطون الأتن ريعان عارض — Alsharif Alradi

A cloud-bank’s crest rose like the bellies of wild asses,

driven onward by a south wind, heavy with the breath of the breeze.

Between the groves of the two valleys it roared with thunder,

like the braying of mounts weariness had touched.

So skilled was it at shooting raindrops that it seemed

a noble archer upon the sand, casting arrows.

Cloud pressed upon cloud; its lightning was drawn swords,

bright-polished, while its broad mass was a dune.

Whenever it poured out its water, its face grew bright;

yet at dawn it came burdened with water, scowling.

I watched it sleepless, my head shunning the pillow, while its lightning

hovered about its shoulders and wheeled around.

My heart is in Najd—and a man dwells wherever his heart is,

a captive; and how dear Najd is to him!

I have no youthful passion there, except that

there I cast off my youth while it was still fresh.

Yes—a heart may sometimes let its surface gleam;

but is its water within reach of those who come to drink?

Ah, will the wind bring back, O air of Ḍārij,

your breeze, which grows sweet and wholesome to me?

And will the weary eye ever look once

toward you, while its two tear-ducts know no drying?

Nor is the yearning of a tawny-hide doe, terrified,

whose entrails throb beneath the darkness—

roaming in search of a fawn her heedlessness had doomed,

for Death has an allotted share in every living thing—

moaning over its tracks, while night had clothed

both lowland and open upland in darkness.

Then, when morning shone, there appeared before her eyes

blood streaming between the hunting beasts’ paws—

like my own anguish, now that youth has stripped its steed bare

and gray hair has changed the color of my temples.

But such are the days: their well

is turbid, and their lightning a rainless lure.

Whenever they begin a matter, they corrupt its end,

and their offenses efface whatever good they did.

How splendid I was the day I fashioned a saying

whose subtle force crept through the listeners’ minds!

And how splendid the day I mounted a soaring ambition,

setting out at dawn for every land and returning!

How many a trackless waste I matched, through travel, breadth for breadth,

and mastered by resolve, though it was hard to master;

and many a night whose final hours showed me the dawn

like a blade slipping from the hidden fold of its baldric.

I journeyed through it, rising over every hill,

with no watcher over me but a star;

and many a blue expanse of water whose gathered fullness I drained,

where legs swam in its depths and disappeared;

and many a blazing noon whose edge I blunted by traveling,

with no shade but a slender spear and a noble mount;

and many a lightless day whose dust proclaimed

its terror, while even daybreak there was doubtful.

There I held a heart bold enough to face death steadfast,

while other hearts trembled beneath their breasts;

and many a spear-thrust whose dark blood I drew forth,

surging like a great bucketful in a vessel;

and many a sword-stroke whose victim I left plainly marked,

its bearer maimed for all his remaining days;

and many a vile companion whose friendship I cast away,

as a sickly drinker spits out water.

Whoever sets his quests beyond the stars

wearies his heart with toil and unrelenting effort.

I looked upon the world with an ailing eye,

and for the sickness of hope I have no physician.

Whoever is occupied with Death finds release

only in attaining his hopes—or in ruin and Death.

Why, then, do I go all my life as though

my very merit made me a stranger in this age?

Whenever I say, “Now my hand has fastened upon a friend,”

recurring adversities and calamities come between us.

Nothing in this world endures for those who strive,

and everyone pursues some ultimate end.