لَعَمرِيَ ما خُلِّفتُ إِلّا لِما أَرى

وَراءَ رِجالٍ اَسلَموني لِما بِيا

By my life! I was left behind only to see

By my life, I have been left behind only to witness this, Outlasting men who surrendered me to my plight.

Men who surrendered me to what is in me

Indeed, I see no hastener outrun his fate, Nor anyone hoping to remain who actually stays.

أَلا لا أَرى هَذا المُسَرِّعَ سابِقاً

وَلا أَحَداً يَرجو البَقِيَّةَ باقِيا

Behold! I see not this swift one outrun

I have seen Death block every path of escape, Leading men by the rein, or driving them forth.

Nor anyone who hopes for rest left resting

I never feared that my end would come to this: Tending barren camels, drinking milk sour and clear.

رَأَيتُ المَنايا طَبَّقَت كُلَّ مَرصَدٍ

يَقُدنَ قِياداً أَو يُجَرِّدنَ حادِيا

I’ve seen death pervade each watchtower

So the camel-yards have become dusty and bleak, While the tribe's quarters are bright and ablaze.

Taking some captive, stripping others bare

To You, O God of Truth, I raise my plea, In refuge and fear lest You prolong my infirmity.

وَما كُنتُ أَخشى أَن تَكونَ مَنِيَّتي

ضَريبَ جِلادِ الشَولِ خَمطاً وَصافِيا

And I feared not that my end would be

If it be a cure, then let the cure be a blessing, And if it be death, then decree what You must decree.

The stroke of a whipping blade, a piercing spear

Meeting You is better than infirmity and trial, For I have lived long days and endured many nights.

فَأَمسى جَنابُ الشَولِ أضغبَرَ كابِيا

وَأَمسى جَنابُ الحَيِّ أَبلَجَ وارِيا

And so the whipping blade grew heedless and dull

I lived as my father did until I reached his full age; I outlived my uncles, and outlived my mother's kin.

While the piercing blade grew blunt and bare

I hope for fresh youth and returned health, But how can a man hope for what he will never find?

إِلَيكَ إِلَهَ الحَقَّ أَرفضعُ رَغبَتي

عِياذاً وَخَوفاً أَن تُطيلَ ضَمانِيا

To You, God of Truth, I raise my longing

How, when I have weathered ninety pilgrimages, And my heart holds a burden that is what it is?

As refuge and fear prolong my stay

I know not what this hidden burden is, Nor to which enemy I now offer my cup.

فَإِن كانَ بُرءاً فَاِجعَلِ البُرءِ نِعمَةً

وَإِن كانَ فَيضاً فَاِقضِ ما أَنتَ قاضِيا

If tis innocence, make innocence a boon

Every year you summon doctors to my side, Yet they provide nothing but vanity and wind.

If a surplus, fulfill what You ordain

If you cauterize one vein to stop the ill, You leave beside it another vein feeding the disease.

لِقاؤُكَ خَيرٌ مِن ضَمانٍ وَفِتنَةٍ

وَقَد عِشتُ أَيّاماً وَعِتُ لَيالِيا

To meet You is better than refuge or trial

So burn not my skin; it matters not to you, Whether you treated me long ago or refrained.

And I have lived days, wearied of nights

If you desist, that is my desire, But if you persist, do not block my fate.

لَبِستُ أَبي حَتّى تَمَلَّيتُ عُمرَهُ

وَبَلَّيتُ أَعمامي وَبَلَّيتُ خالِيا

I wore out my father’s lifetime

Just wait two months, or perhaps half of a third, Until that time when my absence hides me away.

And outlived my uncles and maternal uncle

I have drunk bitter herbs and swallowed vile drafts, And submitted the mouths of my veins to the brand.

أُرَجّي شَباباً مُطرَهِمّاً وَصِحَّةً

وَكَيفَ رَجاءُ المَرءِ ما لَيسَ لاقِيا

I wish for rains of youth and wellness

Just to prolong my life a little while, Though I see no healer for my ill if God heals not.

Yet how can one wish what he will not find

We drank medicines and sought cures, yet no harm would it have been, Had we not treated, if God had decreed the end.

وَكَيفَ وَقَد جَرَّبتُ تِسعينَ حِجَّةً

وَضَمَّ فُؤادي نَوطَةً هِيَ ما هِيا

How, when I've tried threescore and ten pilgrimages

She said, "The land has afflicted him," and surmised, As he complains of pains in chest and head.

And my heart harbors a knot, being what it is

I say to Kannaz, "Climb the heights," yet he refused; I think no sheep will escape his neglect.

وَلا عِلمَ لي ما نَوطَةٌ مُستَكِنَّةٌ

وَلا أَيُّ مَن عادَيتُ أَسقي سِقائِيا

I know not what knot resides within

Tracking white specks in the heart of Yadhbul, Grazing on withered, ancient stalks.

Nor whom of foes I've given to drink

What ails you, wild goats, running blindly? You met a hunter, watching and casting his spear.

وَفي كُلِّ عامس تَدعُوانِ أَطِبَّةً

إِلَيَّ وَما يُجدونَ إِلّا الهَواهِيا

And every year you call physicians to me

If sharp-tipped arrows miss their mark, The ravenous hunting dogs will not miss.

Yet all they find are empty sighs

We and they were like the sons of Sabat, parted ways; One went to the highlands, the other to the coast.

فَإِن تَحسِما عِرقاً مِنَ الداءِ تَترُكا

إِلى جِنبِهِ عِرقاً مِنَ الداءِ ساقِيا

If you sever a vein of illness, you leave

The coastal one cast down his anchor there, And the other stuck fast, saying, "I leave not my place."

Alongside it a channel of illness flowing

My brothers spent the night in the bounty of Ibn Mundhir, While my cousins went thirsty, denied and dry.

فَلا تَحرِقا جِلدي سَواءٌ عَلَيكُما

أَداوَيتُما العَصرَينِ أَم لَم تُداوِيا

So burn not my skin—it is equal to you

If a messenger returns from them bearing a scroll, It brings only trouble, like a captive's cry.

Whether you've treated the two epochs or not

You recognize in its title the tone of its text, While inside lies a deaf calamity, mimicking doom.

فَإِن تُقصِرا عَنّي تَكُن لِيَ حاجَةٌ

وَإِن تَبسُطا لا تَمنَعاني قَضائِيا

If you fall short of me, I'll have need

O Abu Khalid, smooth your garments down; You shall not see a delegation coming till the end of time.

And if you stretch out, you'll not deny my fate

Nor any obedience, until you clash with spears, Spears and men with knotted forelocks prepared for war.

أَلا فَالبِثا شَهرَينِ أَو نِصفَ ثالِثٍ

إِلى ذاكُما ما غَيَّبَتني غِيابِيا

Come! Then, two months, or half a third

I did not snatch a year amidst the hardships, When the cold struck, save to find a remedy.

To the One who made absent my absence

On a day of dark dust and raging storm, I cleared the gloom with bounty that adorns the coming years.

شَرِبتُ الشُكاعى وَالتَدَدتُ أَلِدَّةً

وَأَقبَلتُ أَفواهَ العُروقِ المَكاوِيا

I've drunk chamomile and clung to gentleness

And a stubborn adversary in the quarrel I left behind; He was full of riot, but turned away tamed.

And set to mouths of veins the hot irons—

لِأُنسَأَ في عُمري قَليلاً وَما أَرى

لِدائِيَ إِن لَم يَشفِهِ اللَهُ شافِيا

To gain from my life a little and yet I see

No cure for it, if God doesn't heal, healing

شَرِبنا وَداوَينا وَما كانَ ضَرَّنا

إِذا اللَهُ حَمَّ القَدرَ أَلّا تُداوِيا

We drank and treated, and it did us no harm

If God protects from fate—no treatment healing!

وَقالَت أَتَت أَرضٌ بِهِ وَتَخَيَّلَت

فَأَمسى لَما في الصَدرِ وَالرَأسِ شاكينا

It came to a land, so it fancied

And made complaint of what’s in chest and head

أَقولُ لِكَنّازٍ تَوَقَّل فَإِنَّهُ

أَبى لا اَظُنُّ الظَأنَ مِنهُ نَواجِيا

I say to a weeper who laments, for he

Refuses—I think not the lamb from him will ring

تَتَبَّعُ أَوضاحاً بِسُرَّةِ يَذبُلِ

وَتَرعى هَشيماً مِن حَليمَةِ بالِيا

You follow tracks by the Sura's light that fade

And you pasture on rubble from Kinda's ruins

فَما لَكِ مِن أَروى تَعادَيتِ بِالعَمى

وَلا قَيتِ كَلّاباً مُطِلّاً وَرامِيا

So why did you, being blind, make enemies?

You did not watch like a waiting marksman.

فَإِن أَخطَأَت نَبلاً حَداداً ظُباتُها

عَلى القَصدِ لا تُخطِئُ كِلاباً ضَوارِيا

If their arrows miss a dreadful lion

On purpose, they'll not miss mangy dogs.

وَكُنّا وَهُم كَاِبنَي سَباتٍ تَفَرَّقا

سِوىً ثُمَّ كانا مُنجِداً وَتِهامِيا

We and they were like two doses of poison—

Parted, then made accusations and blame.

فَأَلقى التَهامي مِنهُما بِلَطاتِهِ

وَأَلَطَ هَذا لا أَريمُ مَكانِيا

So the accuser unleashed his slips,

And this one lavished—I see not my place!

وَباتَ بَنو أُمّي بِلَيلِ اِبنِ مُنذِرٍ

وَأَبناءُ أَعمامي عُذوباً صَوادِيا

Last night the sons of my mother

And the sons of my uncles were freshly watered.

إِذا جاءَ مِنهُم قافِلٌ بِصَحيفَةٍ

يَكونُ عَناءً ما يُنَبِّقُ عانِيا

When one of them comes with a writ

It troubles what the sufferer utters.

وَتَعرِفُ في عُنوانِها بَعضَ لَحنِها

وَفي جَوفِها صَمعاءُ تَحكي الدَواهِيا

On its title you recognize some of its meter

Inside it, deaf ones relate empty rumors.

أَبا خالِدٍ هَدِّب خميلَكَ لَن تَرى

بِعَينَيكَ وَفداً آخِرَ الدَهرِ جائِيا

Abu Khalid! Curb your poets—you'll never see

Embassies again—time's final ones.

وَلا طاعَةً حَتّى تُشاجِرَ بِالقَنا

قَناً وَرِجالاً عاقِدينَ النَواصِيا

No obedience until you battle over

Reed-pipes and men with plaited forelocks.

وَلَم أَختَلِس بَينَ الشَقائِقِ حُجَّةً

وَقَد وَقَعَت بِالقُرِّ إِلّا تَلافِيا

And I've not stolen among the goldflowers a sermon

Save that which the mushaf recites.

وَيَومَ قَتامٍ مُزمَهِرٍّ وَهَبوَةٍ

جَلَوتُ بِمِرباعٍ تَزينُ المَتالِيا

On a day of clouds in bloom and gusts

I took flight on a litter adorning the heights.

وَخَصمٍ مُضِلٍّ في الضَجاجِ تَرَكتُهُ

وَقَد كانَ ذا شَغبِ فَوَلّى مُواتِيا

A misleading foe amidst the tumult I left—

He of great dissension—fleeing dejected.