أي رسم لآل هند ودار — Ibn Al Mutaz

What trace remains of the family of Hind and their dwelling?

Both have faded, save a play place and a landmark.

And hearthstones remain, though not from longing,

Sitting over the prey of a fire.

And courtyards over which the pillars of the

Wind swept, till they were left like lines of writing.

And places where the eye was once filled

With branches swaying among moons.

The winds crushed them in every direction,

And the first rains washed them away.

Where are the people of the dwelling? I remember you all

There together. No—where, where is the dwelling?

And I have found my way along the paths of the

Night on a spirited, dark bay horse driven at speed.

Running drenched his flanks, as over

The drinking companion’s hand a cup of wine overflowed.

My eye does not watch for lightning, nor do I

Make my journeys except toward enemies.

Nor do I seek gifts; can people

Make a steady rain pour down?

I am a Hashimite when my lineage is named, and singled

Out among Hashim’s line, without disgrace.

I store up rage in the hearts of enemies,

And bring the tyrant to the house of humiliation.

I have poised horses that charge toward

Death and cannot find the path of flight,

And swords that, when shaken, seem

Like leaves stirred by falling raindrops,

And shields like the greying curls of

Oiled hair, in which combs lose their way,

And arrows that strike people down from afar,

Falling where the eyes have fixed their gaze,

And cauldrons like great male camels

Bellowing among grown and young camels,

Above a fire sated with thick

Wood, which, when it blazes, throws sparks.

It rises above the high ground like a red

Banner, cutting through darkness for every traveller.

I have worn noble deeds as my cloak for an age,

And my own self has spared me the need to boast.

I am an army when I go out alone,

And alone even amid a vast marching army.