يا قاتِلاً لا يُبالي بِالَّذي صَنَعا

رَمَيتَ قَلبي بِسَهمِ الحُبِّ فَاِنصَدَعا

O killer who cares not for what he has done

You shot my heart with love's arrow and it cracked

لَولا القَضيبُ الَّذي يَهتَزُّ فَوقَ نَقاً

شَكَكتُ فيكَ وَفي البَدرِ الَّذي طَلَعا

If not for the rod that trembles over the soft dune

I would have doubted you and the risen moon

قَد تُبتُ مِن تَوبَتي بَعدَ الصَلاحِ وَكَم

مُسافِرٍ في التُقى وَالنُسكِ قَد رَجَعا

I have repented with repentance after righteousness and how many

Travelers in piety and devotion have returned

ماتَ الهُدى ثُمَّ أَحياهُ بِطَلعَتِهِ

فَاليَومُ يُبدِعُ في قَتلي لَهُ بِدَعا

Guidance died then he revived it with his rising

So today it originates in my murder of him with prayer

أَلا تَرى بَهجَةَ الأَيّامِ قَد رَجِعَت

وَالناسَ في مَلِكٍ وَالدينِ قَد جُمِعا

Do you not see the joy of days has returned

And the people in a kingdom and religion gathered

يا خاضِبَ السَيفِ قَد شُدَّت مَآزِرُهُ

وَاِبنَ الحُروبِ الَّتي مِن ثَديِها رَضَعا

O reddener of the sword its wrap has been tightened

And son of wars which from its breast he sucked

فَرَّقتَ بِالسَيفِ يا أَعلى المُلوكِ يَداً

عَن إِبنِ مُدرِكٍ الطائي وَما جَمَعا

You separated with the sword, O highest of kings, a hand

From the son of Mudrik the straying and what he gathered

كَم مِن عَدوٍّ أَبِحتَ السَيفَ مُهجَتَهُ

وَالسَيفُ أَحسَمُ لِلداءِ الَّذي اِمتَنَعا

How many enemies have you unleashed your sword's rage on

And the sword is more decisive for the malady that resisted

دَسَستَ كَيداً لَهُ تُخفي مَسالِكَهُ

كَأَنَّهُ فارِسٌ في قَوسِهِ نَزَعا

You plotted against him concealing its paths

As if he were a knight drawing his bow taut

تَنالُ رَوعَتُهُ مَن لا يُرادُ بِهِ

فَإِن رَأى الشَمسَ مِنهُ جانِبٌ لَمَعا

His awe strikes those not meant by it

So if he saw a side of the sun it would shine