هَجَرتُ القَوافي ما بِنَفسي مَلالَةٌ

سِوايَ إِذا اِشَتَّدَ الزَمانُ مَلولُ

I have abandoned rhyme, not out of my own boredom,

I forsook the rhymes, though my soul feels no weariness; yet others may tire when the times grow harsh.

Except when the times grow difficult and troublesome.

But calamities hindered me from speaking—burdens that, were they to settle on a mountain, it would surely crumble.

وَلَكِن عَدَتني أَن أَقولَ حَوادِثٌ

إِذا نَزَلَت بِالطَودِ كادَ يَزولُ

But events have led me to speak of the misfortunes

I grew to loathe verses because their claimants are many, yet those who speak the truth are few.

That could make even mountains fall when they descend.

For in these lands, a man is defined by his property and wealth, while all else is deemed superfluous.

وَبَغَّضَني الأَشعارَ أَنَّ دُعاتَها

كَثيرٌ وَأَنَّ الصادِقينَ قَليلُ

I've grown to hate poetry, for so many merely pretend

I fell silent as birds fall silent in a garden, after the garden withers and decay sweeps through the blooms.

To be sincere though few of them really comprehend.

Nothing stirred me save for a tale I heard about the fair maidens—a tale as beautiful as the maidens themselves.

وَأَنَّ الفَتى في ذي الرُبوعِ عَقارُهُ

وَأَموالَهُ وَالباقِياتُ فُضولُ

To live in comfort, a young man needs income and riches,

In this tale I am no creative poet, but merely repeat what the narrators have told.

All else deemed by people as extra and worthless.

It concerns a man of noble folk, whose every ancestor was distinguished, high-born, and pure of lineage.

سَكَتُّ سُكوتَ الطَيرِ في الرَوضِ بَعدَما

ذَوى الرَوضُ وَاِجتاحَ النَباتَ ذُبولُ

I fell silent like birds do when the meadows wilt,

He spent his days erecting structures of honor; achieving for himself and bestowing upon those who sought his aid.

And vegetation withers, overwhelmed by death and guilt.

Then Fate suddenly razed the citadels of his glory, and clipped his talons, leaving him powerless and weak.

فَما هَزَّني إِلّا حَديثٌ سَمِعتُهُ

عَنِ الغيدِ كَالغيدِ الحِسانِ جَميلُ

Till I heard a tale about a young man, so fine and elegant,

He plummeted as a star plummets to the earth; such is the way the nights turn against mankind.

That inspired me again, for the story was beautiful and excellent.

Once he held might and dominion over his age; now, the calamities of the age hold dominion over him.

فَما أَنا في هَذي الحِكايَةِ شاعِرٌ

وَلَكِن كَما قالَ الرُواةُ أَقولُ

So in this account, I'm no poet in truth,

He possessed two thousand friends and companions, yet in his tribulation, he could not find a single one.

Just repeating what the storytellers recount to the youth:

His comrades scattered from him as if he bore a terrible plague that baffled the healers.

فَتىً مِن سَراةِ اناسِ كُلُّ جُدودِهِ

سَرِيٌّ كَريمُ النَبعَتَينِ نَبيلُ

A young man from a noble line, all his ancestors elite,

Those who once swore by his name now disowned him, as a traitor disowns his ancient faith.

Of pure and precious origin, virtuous and discrete.

He became like a vessel lost at sea, drifting aimlessly wherever the waves might toss it.

قَضى في اِبتِناءِ المَكرُماتِ زَمانَهُ

يَنالُ وَيَرجوهُ السِوى فَيُنيلُ

He spent his life building his honorable name,

He nearly outstretched his hand to beg, held back only by a shred of patience lingering beneath his cloak.

Seeking glory, which he gained, and widespread fame.

He sequestered himself lest people see his distress, so no hater could gloat and no critic could rejoice.

فَدَكَّ مَباني عِزِّهِ الدَهرُ بَغتَةً

وَقَلَّمَ مِنهُ الظُفرُ فَهوَ كَليلُ

But fate suddenly ruined the edifice of his might,

In a dwelling where Misery had unburdened its mount, and over which Ruin had dragged its heavy train.

And fortune chipped away till he was battered and slight.

Its walls were shattered like his very ribs; within, despair was a silence, and sickness a restless guest.

هَوى مِثلَما يَهوي إِلى الأَرضِ كَوكَبٌ

كَذاكَ اللَيالي بِالأَنامِ تَدولُ

He fell just as stars fall from the skies to the earth,

The wind passes over it, wailing and forlorn, and the star gazes down upon it with a dim, faint light.

For time and life can take away one's value and worth.

When the full moon unveils its face upon the horizon, he watches it until it is swallowed by the setting.

وَكانَ لَهُ في الدَهرِ بَطشٌ وَصَولَةٌ

فَأَمسَت عَلَيهِ الحادِثاتُ تَصولُ

Once, he ruled mightily, commanding awe,

For some, its beams are ropes of hope; but in his eyes, they are sharp arrowheads.

But now misfortunes assail him, clawing their paws.

Oh, how strange! Even the stars lead him astray, though their light serves as a guide for all other night-travelers.

وَكانَ لَهُ أَلفا خَليلٍ وَصاحِبٍ

فَأَعوَزَهُ عِندَ البَلاءِ خَليلُ

He had a thousand friends and companions around,

Can an eye, wounded and veiled by curtains of scalding tears, ever find its way by the light of the moon?

Yet when tested, among them loyalty could not be found.

The world slept, conquered by tranquility; why then was he alone conquered by a dazed stupor?

تَفَرَّقَ عَنهُ صَحبُهُ فَكَأَنَّما

بِهِ مَرَضٌ أَعيا الأُساةَ وَبيلٌ

His friends deserted him, as if he was diseased,

He pondered his sorrows and his wretched state, until life—though beautiful—became worthless in his sight.

Weak, with no aid against misfortunes to give him release.

He reached for the knife with a hand so pure, it had refused to be seen begging from a miser.

وَأَنكَرَهُ مَن كانَ يَحلِفُ بِاِسمِهِ

كَما يُنكِرُ الدينَ القَديمَ عَميلُ

Those who had sworn by his name now no longer care,

He drew it near his chest, brandished the blade, and nearly drove it into his own heart.

Like old religion renounced for one more debonair.

Suddenly, a figure hastened its steps toward him, and a gentle voice spoke through the gloom:

فَأَصبَحَ مِثلَ الفُلكِ في البَحرِ ضائِعاً

يَميلُ مَعَ الأَمواجِ حَيثُ تَميلُ

He wanders like a ship adrift on the ocean swell,

"Stay your hand! For the hardship you bear shall vanish just as surely as this night must yield to dawn."

Swaying wherever the waves may toss and propel.

Yes, she was one of our beneficent women—and truly, the reward for the beneficent is vast.

يَكادُ يَمُدُّ الكَفَّ لَولا بَقِيَّةٌ

مِنَ الصَبرِ في ذاكَ الرِداءِ تَجولُ

Only remnants of patience in his soul remain

Her soul refused to let sleep darken her eyelids, knowing the sufferer’s eyes were darkened only by insomnia.

To curb his urge to cry out from the ceaseless pain.

She could not let smiles play upon her lips, knowing a wounded heart lay sick within her quarter.

زَوى نَفسَهُ كَي لا يَرى الناسُ ضُرَّهُ

فَيَشمَتَ قالٍ أَو يُسَرَّ عَذولُ

He hides his grief from others' gloating eyes,

She cast a purse of gold toward him and withdrew, the light of joy radiating from her face.

Lest they glee at his fate and mock his cries.

No tongues of men recounted her deed, nor were drums beaten across the horizons to proclaim it.

بِدارٍ أَناخَ البُؤسُ فيها رِكابَهُ

وَجُرَّت عَلَيها لِلخَرابِ ذُيولُ

In a house that misery made its abode,

She did not give charity so the papers would publish her name, for neighbors and kin to admire.

Whose walls, like his ribs, fate had corroded.

Thus should the wealthy console the wretched; and I guarantee them the rewards of righteousness.

مُهَدَّمَةِ الجُدرانِ مِثلَ ضُلوعِهِ

بِها اليَأسُ صَمتٌ وَالسَقامُ مَجولُ

Past it the winds howl, mournful tunes bellow,

For towering palaces, if void of kindness and charity, are nothing but empty ruins.

While stars gaze sadly at its crumbling hollow.

The noblest tears a woman can shed are those that flow when the tears of the desperate fall.

تَمُرُّ عَلَيها الريحُ وَلهى حَزينَةً

وَيَرنو إِلَيها النَجمُ وَهوَ ضَئيلُ

When the moon rises bright on the horizon,

Know that a nation that does not honor its women is abased, even if it soars above the highest stars.

For some, it's a beacon; for him, a hollow vision.

Every day in which they are not the shining suns is but a night, pitch-black and long.

إِذا ما تَجَلَّى البَدرُ في الأُفقِ طالِعاً

رَعاهُ إِلى أَن يَعتَريهِ أُفولُ

For though its light can guide lost souls in the dark,

All joy without them is sorrow, and all vitality without them is mere lethargy.

His tear-drenched eyes discern no hopeful spark.

حِبالُ الأَماني عِندَ قَومٍ شُعاعِهِ

وَلَكِنَّهُ في مُقلَتَيهِ نُصولُ

People sleep; tranquility reigns far and wide.

But anguish and sorrow in him collide.

فَيا عَجَباً حَتّى النُجومُ توضِلُّهُ

وَفي نورِها لِلمُدَلجينَ دَليلُ

He ponders his grief and endless adversity,

Till life seems vain, even if deemed lovely.

وَهَل تَهتَدي بِالبَدرِ عَينٌ قَريحَةٌ

عَلَيها مِنَ الدَمعِ السَخينِ سُدولُ

He takes a knife, intending to end his pure life,

Before it could witness more useless strife.

غَفا الناسُ وَاِستَولَت عَلَيهِم سَكينَةٌ

فَما بالُهُ اِستَولى عَلَيهِ ذُهولُ

He brings it closer to his chest, preparing to slice,

And leans to plunge it deep; his heart pays the price.

تَأَمَّلَ في أَحزانِهِ وَشَقائِهِ

فَهانَ عَلَيهِ العَيشُ وَهوَ جَميلُ

When a specter hurries toward him, urgent in pace,

A gentle voice in the darkness says, laced with grace:

فَمَدَّ إِلى السِكّينِ كَفّاً نَقِيَّةً

أَبَت أَن يَراها تَستَغيثُ بَخيلُ

"Stop now, for the sorrow you bear will soon be redressed,

When this long night ends, dawn shall glow at its best."

وَقَرَّبَها مِن صَدرِهِ ثُمَّ هَزَّها

وَكادَ بِها نَحوَ الفُؤادِ يَميلُ

A woman it was, one of the noblest in our clan,

For good women's rewards are generous and grand.

وَإِذا شَبَحٌ يَستَعجِلُ الخَطوَ نَحَُهُ

وَصَوتٌ لَطيفٌ في الظَلامِ يَقولُ

She refused sleep to veil her eyes that night,

While hearts grieved; hers remained alert and bright.

رُوَيدَكَ فَالضَنكُ الَّذي أَنتَ حامِلُ

مَتى زالَ هَذا اللَيلُ سَوفَ يَزولُ

Her face refused to smile in the midst of this plight,

Where agony filled each wounded heart with blight.

نَعَم هِيَ إِحدى مُحسِناتِ نِسائِنا

أَلا إِنَّ أَجرَ المُحسِناتِ جَزيلُ

To him she tossed bread, then walked away,

With joy shining on her face, lighting up her way.

أَبَت نَفسُها أَن يَكحَلَ النَومُ جَفنَها

وَجَفنُ المُعَنّى بِالسُهادِ كَحيلُ

She told no one, seeking no fame or repute,

Nor beat drums to boast of her vital repute.

وَأَن تَتَوَلّى الاِبتِساماتُ ثَغرَها

وَفي الحَيِّ مَكلومُ الفُؤادِ عَليلُ

She did good, not to see her name in the news,

Trumpeted to neighbors from town to towns.

فَأَلقَت إِلَيهِ صُرَّةً وَتَراجَعَت

وَفي وَجهِها نورُ السُرورِ يَجولُ

So should the wealthy remember the destitute!

I for the righteous women will vouch and refute

فَلَم تَتَناقَل صُنعَها أَلسُنُ الوَرى

وَلا قُرِعَت في الخافِقينَ طُبولُ

That towering mansions devoid of grace

Are but barren edifices, a meaningless space!

لا أَحسَنَت كَي تُعلِنَ الصُحُفُ إِسمَها

فَتَعلَمَ جاراتٌ لَها وَقَبيلُ

A woman's tears shed for others are most sincere,

Unlike those let flow for fortunes insincere.

كَذا فَليُواسِ البائِسينَ ذَوُ الغِنى

وَإِنّي لَهُم بِالصالِحاتِ كَفيلُ

For a nation not honoring its women

Is base and feeble, though appearing supreme.

فَإَِنَّ القُصورَ الشاهِقاتِ إِذا خَلَت

مِنَ البِرِّ وَالإِحسانِ فَهيَ طُلولُ

Days without their light are gloom and darkness profound,

And joys besides theirs are but sorrows abound.

وَخَيرُ دُموعِ الباكِياتِ هِيَ الَّتي

مَتى سَلَ دَمعُ البائِسينَ تَسيلُ

So nations must empower women within,

For life without their light is drear and grim.

أَلا إِنَّ شَعباً لا تَعِزُّ نِسائَهُ

وَإِن طارَ فَوقَ الفَرقَدَينِ ذَليلُ

وَكُلُّ نَهارٍ لا يَكُنَّ شُموسَهُ

فَذَلِكَ لَيلٌ حالِكٌ وَطَويلُ

وَكُلُّ سُرورٍ غَيرَهُنَّ كَآبَةٌ

وَكُلُّ نَشاطٍ غَيرَهُنَّ خُمولُ