أَمَرَ السُلطانُ بِالشاعِرِ يَوماً فَأَتاهُ

في كِساءٍ حائِلِ الصُبغَةِ واهٍ جنِباهُ

The sultan commanded the poet one day, so he came to him

The Sultan summoned the poet one day, and he came,

In a robe of faded color, with sides falling apart

Clad in a garment of faded color with tattered sides,

وَحِذاءٍ أَوشَكَت تَفلَتُ مِنهُ قَدَماهُ

قالَ صِف جاهي فَفي وَصفِكَ لي لِلشِعرِ جاهُ

And shoes about to slip off his feet

And wearing shoes from which his feet nearly slipped free.

He said, describe my glory, for in your description, poetry finds glory

He said, "Describe my glory, for in praising me, poetry gains prestige.

إِنَّ لِيَ القَصرُ الَّذي لا تَبلُغُ الطَيرُ ذُراهُ

وَلِيَ الرَوضُ الَّذي يَعبَقُ بِالمِسكِ ثَراهُ

I have the palace that no bird can reach its height

Mine is the palace whose summits the birds cannot reach,

And I have the garden that is fragrant with musk in its soil

Mine is the garden whose soil is fragrant with musk,

وَلِيَ الجَيشُ الَّذي تَرشُحُ بِالمَوتِ ظِباهُ

وَلِيَ الغاباتُ وَالشُمُّ الرَواسي وَالمِياهُ

And I have the army from which death drips from its spears

Mine is the army whose blades drip with death,

And I have the forests and the high summits and the waters

And mine are the forests, the towering mountains, and the waters.

وَلِيَ النسُ وَبُؤسُ الناسِ مِنّي وَالرَفاهُ

إِنَّ هَذا الكَونَ مُلكي أَنا في الكَونِ إِلَهُ

And I have joy and people's misery comes from me and their comfort

The people are mine; their misery flows from me, as does their ease.

Indeed this universe is my kingdom, I am its god in the universe

Indeed, this universe is my domain; I am a god within it."

ضَحِكَ الشعِرُ مِمّا سَمِعَتهُ أُذُناهُ

وَتَمَنّى أَن يُداجي فَعَصَتهُ شَفَتاهُ

The poet laughed at what his ears had heard

The poet laughed at what his ears had heard,

And wished to talk back but his lips disobeyed him

And he wished to flatter, but his lips refused to obey.

قالَ إِنّي لا أَرى الأَمرَ كَما أَنتَ تَراهُ

إِنَّ مُلكِيَ قَد طَوى مُلكَكَ عَنِّيَ وَمَحاهُ

He said, I don't see things as you do

He said, "I do not see things as you see them,

My kingdom has folded over your kingdom and erased it

For my kingdom has eclipsed yours and wiped it away.

القَصرُ يُنبِئُ عَن مَهارَةِ شاعِرٍ

لَبِقٍ وَيُخبِرُ بَعدَهُ عَنكا

The palace tells of a refined and eloquent poet's skill

The palace speaks of the skill of an artist,

And informs about your distance from it

A master builder, and only speaks of you secondarily.

هُوَ لِلأُلى يَدورونَ كُنهَ جَمالِهِ

فَإِذا مَضَوا فَكَأَنَهُ دُكّا

It is for the elite who frequent it and circle around its beauty

It belongs to those who grasp the essence of its beauty,

So when they pass, it is as if it never existed

For if they depart, it is as if it were turned to dust.

سَتَزولُ أَنتَ وَلا يَزولُ جَلالُهُ

كَالفُلكِ إِن خَلَت فُلكا

You will perish while its majesty remains

You will pass away, but its majesty will remain,

Like a ship, if it becomes empty of sailors

Like a ship that remains a ship even when empty.

وَالرَوضُ إِنَّ الرَوضَ شاعِرٍ

سَمحٍ طَروبٍ رائِقٍ جَزلِ

The garden, the garden is of a generous poet

And the garden—truly the garden belongs to a poet,

Of pleasant composition and exquisite sensibility

Generous, joyous, pure, and eloquent,

وَشى حَواشِيَهُ وَزَيَّنَ أَرضَهُ

بِرَوائِعِ الأَلوانِ وَالظِلِّ

He lined its edges and adorned its soil

Who embroidered its borders and adorned its grounds

With the wonders of color and shade

With masterpieces of color and shade.

لِفراشَةٍ تَحي لَهُ وَلِنَحلَةٍ

تَحيا بِهِ وَلِشاعِرٍ مِثلي

For a butterfly that lives for it and a bee

It belongs to the butterfly that lives for it, and the bee

That lives by it and a poet like me

That survives by it, and to a poet like me.

وَلِديمَةٍ تَذري عَلَيهِ دُموعَها

كَما تَقيهِ غَوائِلَ المَحلِ

And a doe that sheds her tears over it

It belongs to the rain cloud that sheds its tears upon it,

As showers protect its buds

To protect it from the ravages of drought.

وَلِبُلبُلٍ غَرِدٍ يُساجِلُ بُلبُلاً

غَرداً وَلِلنَسَماتِ

And a nightingale singing, conversing with nightingales

It belongs to the singing nightingale answering another nightingale

With song, and for the light breezes

In song, and to the gentle breezes.

فَإِذا مَضى زَمَنُ الرَبيعِ أَضَعتَهُ

وَأَقامَ في قَلبي وَفي عَقلي

So when the spring season passes, you neglect it

If the season of spring passes, you have lost it,

While it remains in my heart and my mind

While it dwells eternally in my heart and mind.

وَالجَيشُ مَعقودٌ لِواأُكَ فَوقَهُ

ما دُمتَ تَكسوهُ وَتُطعِمُهُ

The army is devoted to you for what you clothe it and feed it

And the army, over which your banner is raised,

Its obedience is for bread and its loyalty is its leash

Is yours only so long as you clothe and feed it.

لِلخُبزِ طاعَتُهُ وَحُسنُ وَلائِهِ

هُوَ لاتُهُ الكُبرى وَبَرهَمُهُ

It is your greatest tool and your strike force

Its obedience and loyalty are pledged to bread;

But if it starves in the shade of your throne one night

That is its greatest idol and its god.

فَإِذا يَجوعُ بِظِلِّ عَرشِكَ لَيلَةً

فَهُوَ الَّذي بِيَدَيهِ يُحَطِّمُهُ

It is the one with its swords that will shatter you

If it goes hungry beneath your throne for a single night,

You have its swords from it but tomorrow

It will be the one to smash that throne with its own hands.

لَكَ مِنهُ أَسيُفُهُ وَلَكِن في غَدٍ

لِسِواكَ أَسيُفُهُ وَأَسهُمُهُ

Its swords and arrows will be for your toothbrush

Today its swords are yours, but tomorrow,

Do you think it marched to battle exultant

Its swords and arrows will belong to another.

أَتُراهُ سارَ إِلى الوَغى مُتَهَلِّلاً

لَولا الَّذي الشُعَراءُ تَنظِمُهُ

If not for what poets compose about it

Do you think it would march to war rejoicing,

And if it hums is it not but a poem

Were it not for the anthems poets compose?

وَإِذا تَرَنَّمَ هَل بِغَيرِ قَصيدَةٍ

مِن شاعِرٍ مِثلي تَرَنُّمُهُ

From a poet like me that makes it hum

And when it chants, does it chant anything but a poem

You grasped the sea by its pearl

Written by a poet like me?

وَالبَحرُ قَد ظَفِرَت يَداكَ بِدُرِّهِ

وَحَصاهُ لَكِن هَل مَلَكتَ هَديرُهُ

But did you possess its roar?

And the sea—your hands may have seized its pearls

It belongs to the night pouring over it its devotion

And its pebbles, but do you possess its roar?

هُوَ لِلدُجى يُلقي عَلَيهِ خُشوعَهُ

وَالصُبحُ يَسكُبُ وَهوَ يَضحَكُ نورُهُ

And morning spilling its light while it laughs

It belongs to the night, which casts its reverence upon it,

Did you mix its waters? Did you dye

And to the morning, which pours its laughing light.

أَمَرَجتَ أَنتَ مِياهَهُ أَصَبَغتَ أَن

تَ رِمالَهُ أَجَبَلتَ أَنتَ صُخورَهُ

Its sands? Did you shape its rocks?

Did you churn its waters? Did you dye

It belongs to the winds that shake it and stir it

Its sands? Did you shape its rocky shores?

هُوَ لِلرِياحِ تَهُزُّهُ وَتُثيرُهُ

وَالشُهبُ تَسمَعُ في الظَلامِ زَئيرَهُ

And the comets hear its growl in the darkness

It belongs to the winds that stir and shake it,

It belongs to the birds enchanted with it

And to the stars that hear its roar in the dark.

لِلطَيرِ هائِمَةً بِهِ مَفتونَةً

لا لِلَّذين يُرَوِّعونَ طُيورَهُ

Not those who frighten its birds

It belongs to the birds, wandering and enchanted,

It belongs to the enchanted poetry it whimsically creates

Not to those who frighten its flocks away.

لِلشعِرِ المَفتونِ يُخلَقُ لاهِياً

مِن مَوجِهِ حوراً وَيَعشَقُ حورَهُ

Maidens from its waves that it falls in love with their maidens

It belongs to the captivated poet, who creates playfully

And those who see in it a symbol of their existence

Nymphs from its waves, and then falls in love with them.

وَلِمَن يُشاهِدُ فيهِ رَمزَ كَيانِهِ

وَلِمَن يُجيدُ لِغَيرِهِ تَصويرَهُ

And those who know how to portray it for others

It belongs to the one who sees in it the symbol of his being,

O you who fishes pearls from its depths

And who can skillfully depict it for others.

يا مَن يَصيدُ الدُرَّ مِن أَعمقِهِ

أَخَذَت يَداكَ مِنَ الجَليلِ حَقيرَهُ

Your hands took its trivial part from the momentous

O you who fish for pearls from its depths,

Do not claim it for it cannot be possessed, it is

Your hands have taken the trivial from the magnificent.

لا تَدَّعيهِ فَلَيسَ يُملَكُ إِنَّهُ

كَالرَوضِ جَهدُكَ أَن تَشِمَّ عَبيرَهُ

Like the garden, your effort is to smell its fragrance

Do not claim it, for it cannot be owned;

And I passed the high mountain but its beauty

Like the garden, your limit is but to smell its fragrance.

وَمَرَرتُ بِالجَبَلِ الأَشَمِّ فَما زَوى

عَنّي مَحاسِنَهُ وَلَستُ أَميرا

Did not conceal itself from me and I am no prince

I passed by the towering mountain, and it did not hide

And you passed but did not see its rocks

Its beauties from me, though I am no prince.

وَمَرَرتَ أَنتَ فَما رَأَيتَ صُخورَهُ

ضَحِكَت وَلا رَقَصَت لَدَيكَ حُبورا

Laughing for you or its does dancing for you

Yet you passed by and did not see its rocks

And I relayed to its ants what you claim

Laugh, nor did they dance before you in joy.

وَلَقَد نَقَلتُ لِنَملِهِ ما تَدَّعي

فَتَعَجَّبَت مِمّا حَكَيتَ كَثيرا

They were astonished at how much you prattled

I told its ants of your claims,

Your friend said, can he be more stubborn

And they marveled greatly at what I recounted.

قالَت صَديقُكَ ما يَكونُ أَقَشعَماً

أَم أَرقَماً أَم ضَيغَماً هَيصورا

Or tattooed or a babbler, a fabricator

They asked, 'What is this friend of yours? Is he a vulture?'

Does he spin for you like the spider its webs

'Or a serpent, or a ravenous lion?'

أَيَحوكُ مِثلَ العَنكَبوتِ بُيوتَهُ

حَوكاً وَيَبني كَالنُسورِ وُكورا

Spinning, and build like eagles their nests

'Does he weave his homes like a spider,'

Does he fill the valleys with muddy flows like dawn

'Or build nests like the eagles?'

هَل يَملَءُ الأَغوارَ تِبراً كَالضُحى

وَيَرُدُّ كَالغَيثِ المَواتَ نَضيرا

And make barren places lush like rain

'Does he fill the valleys with gold like the morning sun,'

Does he roll up like the night the plains and hills

'And like the rain, turn dead lands green?'

أَيَلُفُّ كَاللَيلِ الأَباطِحِ وَالرُبى

وَالمَنزِلَ المَعمورَ وَالمهجورا

The inhabited dwellings and the abandoned

'Does he enwrap the valleys and hills like the night,'

So I told it no, and it said to name it

'Both the inhabited home and the abandoned ruins?'

فَأَجَبتُها كَلّا فَقالَت سَمِّهِ

في غَيرِ خَوفٍ كائِناً مَغرورا

Without fear, an arrogant fabricator

I answered them, 'No.' So they said, 'Name him,'

The sultan boiled with rage, what a boil

'Fearlessly, as a deluded creature.'"

فَاِحتَدَمَ السُلطانُ أَيَّ اِحتِدام

وَلاحَ حُبُّ البَطشِ في مُقلَتَيه

And the love of tyranny shone in his pupils

The Sultan raged with a furious anger,

He called to the executioner, bring the sword

And the lust for violence gleamed in his eyes.

وَصاحَ بِالجَلّادِ هاتِ الحُسام

فَأَسرَعَ الجَلّادُ يَسعى إِلَيه

The executioner rushed to him

He shouted to the executioner, "Bring the sword!"

He said, sever the head of this boy

The executioner hastened toward him.

فَقالَ دَحرِج رَأسَ هَذا الغُلام

فَرَأسُهُ عِبءٌ عَلى مَنكِبَيه

For his head is a burden on his shoulders

He commanded, "Strike off this boy's head,"

The sword is forged for harvesting necks

"For it has become a burden upon his shoulders."

قَد طُبِعَ السَيفُ لِحَزِّ الرِقاب

وَهَذِهِ رَقبَةُ ثَرثارِ

And this is the neck of a blabbermouth

"The sword was forged for severing necks,"

I will kill him and toss his body to the dogs

"And this is the neck of a babbler."

أُقتُلهُ وَاِطَرَح جِسمَهُ لِلكِلاب

وَلتَذهَبِ الروحُ إِلى النارِ

And let his soul go to hell

"Kill him and cast his body to the dogs,"

Hearing and obeying, my lord, and the anger

"And let his soul descend to Hell."

سَمعاً وَطَوعاً سَيِّدي وَاِنتَضى

عَضباً يَموجُ المَوتُ في شَفرَتَيه

Surged like death in his blade

"I hear and obey, my master." He drew

And it was but a blink before the head flew off his shoulders

A sharp blade, death rippling along its edge.

وَلَم يَكُن إِلّا كَبَرقٍ أَضا

حَتّى أَطارَ الرَأسَ عَن مَنكِبَيه

The poet fell prostrate, scratching the ground with both hands

It was but a flash of lightning,

As if searching for his head

That sent the head flying from the shoulders.

فَسَقَطَ الشاعِرُ مُعرَورِضا

يُخَدِّشُ الأَرضَ بِكِلتا يَدَيه

The sultan laughed at his bowing

The poet collapsed in a heap,

Then stood whispering to himself

Clawing the earth with both hands,

كَأَنَما يَبحَثُ عَن رَأسِهِ

فَاِستَضحَكَ السُلطانُ مِن سَجدَتِه

One with a paradise became without his paradise

As though searching for his lost head;

Yes, thus the poet perished

And the Sultan laughed at his posture,

ثُمَّ اِستَوى يَهمُسُ في نَفسِهِ

ذو جَنَّةٍ أَمسى بِلا جَنَّتِه

As the sinner wrongdoer perishes

Then settled back, whispering to himself:

So no bird was disturbed in a garden

"The master of the garden is now without his garden."

أَجَل هَكَذا هَلَكَ الشاعِرُ

كَما يَهلِكُ الآثِمُ المُذنِبُ

Nor a star extinguished in the sky

Yes, and so the poet perished,

Nor the lush trees grieved

As the sinful criminal perishes.

فَما غَصَّ في رَوضَةٍ طائِرٌ

وَلَم يَنطَفِئ في السَما كَوكَبُ

Nor the murmuring stream saddened

No bird choked on its song in the garden,

And the killer was compensated for his murder

Nor did a star wink out in the sky.

وَلا جَزِعَ الشَجَرُ الناضِرُ

وَلا اِكتَأَبَ الجَدوَلُ المُطرَبُ

With abundant wealth and smooth cheeks

The blooming trees did not mourn,

So his despicable nature said to him

Nor did the musical brook grow melancholy.

وَكوفِئَ عَن قَتلِهِ القاتِلُ

بِمالٍ جَزيلٍ وَخَدٍّ أَسيل

Would that I had a victim each day

The killer was rewarded for his deed,

On an obscure night with no stars

With abundant gold and a beauty's smooth cheek.

فَقالَ لَهُ خُلقُهُ السافِلِ

أَلا لَيتَ لي كُلَّ يَومٍ قَتيل

Death crept into the palace

So his base nature whispered to him,

Between the guards' swords and arrows

"Would that I had a victim every day!"

في لَيلَةٍ طامِسَةِ الأَنجُمِ

تَسَلَّلَ المَوتُ إِلى القَصرِ

And the Indian iron swords

On a night when the stars were blotted out,

To the bed of the greatest king

Death crept silently into the palace,

بَينَ حِرابِ الجُندِ وَالأَسهُمِ

وَالأَسيُفِ الهِندِيَّةِ الحُمرِ

To the prince of land and sea

Slipping past the soldiers' spears and arrows,

So he left the world while in it still

And the blood-red Indian swords.

إِلى سَريرِ المُلكِ الأَعظَمِ

إِلى أَميرِ البَرِّ وَالبَحرِ

Were wines and songs

To the bed of the supreme monarch,

The mountain did not extend its grief over him

To the lord of land and sea.

فَفارَقَ الدُنيا وَلَمّا تَزَل

فيها خُمورٌ وَأَغاريدُ

Nor did the lute waste away in the garden

He departed this world while it still held

In the oblivion of death and wear of time

Wine and song to be enjoyed.

فَلَم يَمِد حُزناً عَلَيهِ الجَبَل

وَلا ذَوى في الرَوضِ أُملودُ

The sultan and poet meet

The mountain did not shake with grief for him,

One without glory and one without

Nor did a single branch wither in the garden.

في حَومَةِ المَوتِ وَظِلِّ البِلى

قَدِ يلتَقى السُلطانُ وَالشاعِرُ

Humiliation, so neither victor nor defeated

In the surge of death and the shadow of decay,

The fates embraced those destinies

The Sultan and the Poet eventually meet.

هَذا بِلا مَجدٍ وَهَذا بِلا

ذُلٍّ فَلا باغٍ وَلا ثائِرُ

And the oppressed and oppressor kept company

The one without glory, and the other without

The poet does not mind being killed

Humiliation—no oppressor remains, nor rebel.

عانَقَتِ الأَسمالُ تِلكَ الحِلى

وَاِصطَحَبَ المَقهورُ وَالقاهِرُ

Beyond the grave there are no swords or spears

The rags embraced the royal jewels,

And the king does not care to be disgraced

As the conquered and the conqueror became companions.

لا يَجزَعُ الشاعِرُ أَن يُقتَلا

لَيسَ وَراءَ القَبرِ سَيفٌ وَرُمح

Blame and praise are the same to the dead

The poet does not fear being killed,

And generations passed in succession

For beyond the grave there is no sword or spear.

وَلا يُبالي ذاكَ أَن يُعذَلا

سِيّانِ عِندَ المَيتِ ذَمٌّ وَمَدح

One disappearing, another emerging

And the other cares not for blame;

I decayed upon the lofty palace yet

To the dead, praise and scorn are one and the same.

وَتَوالَتِ الأَجيالُ تَطَّرِدُ

جيلٌ يَغيبُ وَآخَرٌ يَفِدُ

Neither the walls stand nor the pillars

Generations followed, one after another,

And I walked upon the dense army yet

One fading away as another arrives.

أَخَنتُ عَلى القَصرِ المَنيفِ فَلا

الجُدرانُ قائِمَةٌ وَلا العُمُدُ

No branded horses or armor remain

Time wore down the lofty palace, leaving

They took those who did right and those who did wrong

Neither standing walls nor pillars.

وَمَشَت عَلى الجيشِ الكَثيفِ فَلا

خَيلٌ مُسَوَّمَةٌ وَلا زُردُ

And carried those who suffered and those who prospered

And oblivion walked over the vast army, leaving

And those whose being was melted by love

Neither fine horses nor coats of mail.

ذَهَبَت بِمَن صَلُحوا وَمَن فَسَدوا

وَمَضَت بِمَن تَعيسوا وَمَن سَعِدوا

And those whose hearts were corroded by envy

It swept away the righteous and the corrupt,

And they folded kings without number

Taking the miserable and the happy alike.

وَبِمَن أَذابَ الحُبَّ مُهجَتَهُ

وَبِمَن تَأَكَّلَ قَلبَهُ الحَسَدُ

As if they never existed on earth

Those whose souls were melted by love,

And the murdered poet remains

And those whose hearts were consumed by envy.

وَطَوَت مُلوكاً ما لَهُم عَدَدٌ

فَكَأَنَّهُم في الأَرضِ ما وُجِدوا

His words as if they are eternity

It buried countless kings,

The old man touches in its aspects

As if they had never existed on this earth.

وَالشاعِرُ المَقتولُ باقِيَةٌ

أَقوالُهُ فَكَأَنَّها الأَبَدُ

Images of passion and nascent wisdom

Yet the murdered poet remains;

His words endure, as if they were eternity itself.

الشَيخُ يَلمُسُ في جَوانِبِها

صُوَرَ الهَوى وَالحِكَمَةَ الوَلدُ

The elder finds within their depths images of passion,

And the youth finds wisdom.