أتصرف أجمال النوى شاجنية — Farazdaq

Does Shājiniyyah turn aside the camels of departure,

Or is Upper al-Ḥafar in Falj their destination?

Neither of the two lacks, among her dwelling places,

Encampments whose inscriptions remain, never fading.

And how many a weeper's eye and tear are there,

When milked, their flow is swift.

The settled folk of the tribal camps see that he is

Rich whenever she speaks to him, though he is their poor man.

She walks swaying toward the house of prayer, as though she were

On loose sand, one whose broken leg was fractured anew.

Like a diver's pearl: into a fearsome deep he cast

His whole body, while his innermost soul feared

A mute guardian of the pearls; already someone had wept

To him from among the divers, warning him against it.

So he said, ‘I shall meet death, or win wealth

For myself—the appointed times of death are coming.’

And when he saw what stood before it, a soul staked him

At risk of death—a soul whose poor man never sleeps.

Then he reached down, its two fangs flanking a peerless pearl:

It was death—or a world of wealth, its herald crying good news.

Then, as he drew near, Death struck his two palms

With a bite of fangs whose onslaught was swift.

Then, with life's last remnant, he tugged the top of his rope,

And above him lay a green sea, its waters swelling high.

He scarcely came up before he spewed, the water beneath him,

Blood of many hues, its torrents freshly shed.

Whenever they tried to make him swallow a blended draught,

He refused, as his life ebbed away, and could not swallow it.

And when they showed it to his mother, her grief eased,

In hope of wealth, when its radiance shone.

The merchants kept bidding higher for it, yet no one could see

A price for it whose great sum was not paltry.