حَسَناتي عِندَ الزَمانِ ذُنوبُ

وَفَعالي مَذَمَّةٌ وَعُيوبُ

My virtues, in Time’s reckoning, are sins,

and my deeds are reproaches and faults.

وَنَصيبي مِنَ الحَبيبِ بِعادٌ

وَلِغَيري الدُنُوُّ مِنهُ نَصيبُ

My lot from the beloved is distance,

while another’s lot is nearness to the beloved.

كُلُّ يَومٍ يُبري السُقامَ مُحِبٌّ

مِن حَبيبٍ وَما لِسُقمي طَبيبُ

Each day some lover is cured of sickness

by a beloved—yet my sickness has no physician.

فَكَأَنَّ الزَمانَ يَهوى حَبيباً

وَكَأَنّي عَلى الزَمانِ رَقيبُ

It is as though Time itself loved a beloved,

and I were set as a watcher over Time.

إِنَّ طَيفَ الخَيالِ يا عَبلَ يَشفي

وَيُداوى بِهِ فُؤادي الكَئيبُ

The phantom of your image, O ʿAbl, truly heals,

and with it my sorrow-laden heart is treated.

وَهَلاكي في الحُبِّ أَهوَنُ عِندي

مِن حَياتي إِذا جَفاني الحَبيبُ

To perish of love is easier for me

than to live when the beloved shuns me.

يا نَسيمَ الحِجازِ لَولاكِ تَطفا

نارُ قَلبي أَذابَ جِسمي اللَهيبُ

O breeze of the Hijaz, but for you it would die out—

the fire of my heart, whose blaze has melted my body.

لَكِ مِنّي إِذا تَنَفَّستُ حَرٌّ

وَلِرَيّاكِ مِن عُبَيلَةَ طيبُ

Whenever you breathe, heat from me reaches you,

and the fragrance you bear from ʿUbayla is sweet.

وَلَقَد ناحَ في الغُصونِ حَمامٌ

فَشَجاني حَنينُهُ وَالنَحيبُ

A dove has indeed wailed among the branches,

and its yearning and lament have stirred my grief.

باتَ يَشكو فِراقَ إِلفٍ بَعيدٍ

وَيُنادي أَنا الوَحيدُ الغَريبُ

All night it complained of parting from a distant mate

and called, “I am the lone, estranged one.”

يا حَمامَ الغُصونِ لَو كُنتَ مِثلي

عاشِقاً لَم يَرُقكَ غُصنٌ رَطيبُ

O dove among the branches, were you like me—

a lover—no fresh green bough would delight you.

فَاِترُكِ الوَجدَ وَالهَوى لِمُحِبٍّ

قَلبُهُ قَد أَذابَهُ التَعذيبُ

Then leave longing and passion to a lover

whose heart torment has melted.

كُلَّ يَومٍ لَهُ عِتابٌ مَعَ الدَه

رِ وَأَمرٌ يَحارُ فيهِ اللَبيبُ

Each day he has a quarrel with Ti—

—me, and a matter that bewilders the discerning,

وَبَلايا ما تَنقَضي وَرَزايا

ما لَها مِن نِهايَةٍ وَخُطوبُ

with afflictions that never cease, and calamities

that have no end—and dire adversities.

سائِلي يا عُبَيلَ عَنّي خَبيراً

وَشُجاعاً قَد شَيَّبَتهُ الحُروبُ

Ask, O ʿUbayla, about me one who knows me well,

and a valiant man whom wars have turned gray.

فَسَيُنبيكِ أَنَّ في حَدِّ سَيفي

مَلَكَ المَوتِ حاضِرٌ لا يَغيبُ

He will tell you that upon my sword’s edge

the Angel of Death stands present, never absent.

وَسِناني بِالدارِعينِ خَبيرٌ

فَاِسأَليهِ عَمّا تَكونُ القُلوبُ

My spearpoint knows mail-clad warriors well;

ask it what their hearts conceal.

كَم شُجاعٍ دَنا إِلَيَّ وَنادى

يا لَقَومي أَنا الشُجاعُ المَهيبُ

Every brave warrior who drew near me and cried,

“O my people, I am the fearsome champion!”—

ما دَعاني إِلّا مَضى يَكدِمُ الأَر

ضَ وَقَد شُقَّت عَلَيهِ الجُيوبُ

none has challenged me but ended biting the ear—

—th—and collars were torn open in mourning for him.

وَلِسُمرِ القَنا إِلَيَّ اِنتِسابٌ

وَجَوادي إِذا دَعاني أُجيبُ

The dusky lances claim kinship with me,

and when my steed calls me, I answer.

يَضحَكُ السَيفُ في يَدي وَيُنادي

وَلَهُ في بَنانِ غَيري نَحيبُ

The sword laughs in my hand and calls aloud,

but in another man’s fingers it laments.

وَهوَ يَحمى مَعي عَلى كُلِّ قِرنٍ

مِثلَما لِلنَسيبِ يَحمي النَسيبُ

Beside me it guards against every adversary,

as one kinsman guards another.

فَدَعَوني مِن شُربِ كَأسِ مُدامٍ

مِن جَوارٍ لَهُنَّ ظَرفٌ وَطيبُ

So spare me from drinking a cup of wine

served by maidens endowed with elegance and sweetness.

وَدَعوني أَجُرُّ ذَيلَ فَخارٍ

عِندَما تُخجِلُ الجَبانَ العُيوبُ

And let me trail the sweeping train of glory

when disgraceful faults make the coward blush.