سَرى لَيلَةً حَتّى أَداءَ عَمودُها
وَأَيَّةُ سَوقٍ شَوقُها لا يَعودُها
He journeyed through a night until its pillar gleamed,
and what a driving-on—its longing never turns it back.
وَسارَ مَسيرَ الشَمسِ لَم تَبقَ بَلدَةٌ
مِنَ الأَرضِ إِلّا نَحوَ أُخرى يُريدُها
He traveled as the sun travels, never remaining in any town
on earth, but directing his desire toward another.
وَشَيَّعَهُ قَلبٌ جَرِيٌّ جَنانَهُ
وَنَفسٌ كَأَنَّ الحادِثاتِ عَبيدُها
A heart accompanied him, bold at its inmost core,
and a soul as though calamities were its slaves.
خَليلَيَّ هَذي دارُ شُرَّةَ فَاِسأَلا
مَغانِيَها لَو كانَ ذاكَ يُعيدُها
My two companions, here is Shurra’s dwelling—ask
its vanished traces, if asking could restore them.
خَلَت وَعَفَت إِلّا إِثافٍ كَأَنَّها
عَوائِدُ ذي سُقمٍ بَطيءٌ قُعودُها
It stands empty and effaced, save for hearthstones, as though they were
visitors to a sick man, slow to rise from their seats.
وَحَربٍ لَوَ أَنَّ اللَهَ يَرمي بِجَمرِها
شَماريخَ رَضوى زَلزَلَتها جُنودُها
And a war—had God hurled its embers against
the peaks of Radwa, its armies would have shaken them.
يُسَعِّرُها أَبطالُها بِصَوارِمٍ
وَيَفلِقُ بيضاتِ الحَديدِ حَديدُها
Its heroes stoke it with slashing swords,
and its steel splits helmets, those eggs of iron.
وَمَصقولَةِ الأَطرافِ حُمرٌ كُعوبُها
سَريعٍ إِلى نَفسِ الكَمِيِّ وُرودُها
And upraised spear-tips, their butts red—
swift is their arrival at the warrior’s soul.
شَهِدتُ فَأَوطَأتُ الخُيولَ كَأَنَّها
مُفَلَّقَةُ الهاماتِ حُمرٌ جُلودُها
I witnessed it and drove the horses trampling onward, as though they were
smooth and round of head, their hides blood-red.
بِعَسكَرِ أَبطالٍ تَبيتُ كُماتُهُ
وَإِن نَزَحَت عَنهُ قَليلاً هُجودُها
With an army of heroes whose champions pass the night awake,
while what little slumber they have keeps its distance.
وَلَيلٍ يَوَدُّ المُصطَلونَ بِنارِهِ
لَوَ اَنَّهُمُ حَتّى الصَباحِ وَقودُها
And a night whose fireside warmers would wish
that they themselves were its fuel until dawn.
يُقيمُ بِبِضِ المَشرَفِيّاتِ وَالقَنا
وِراثَةَ مَجدٍ قَد حَمَتها جُدودُها
It upholds, with gleaming Mashrafi blades and spears,
an inheritance of glory its forefathers defended.
إِذا لَبِسوا مِن ذا الحَديدِ غَلائِلاً
وَهَزّوا رِماحَ الخَطِّ حُمراً عُقودُها
When they don shirts of this iron
and brandish the spears of al-Khatt, their fittings red,
هُناكَ تُلاقي الصَبرَ ضَنكاً طَريقُهُ
وَجُندَ المَنايا شارِعاتٍ بُنودُها
there you meet endurance, its road constricted,
and death’s armies with their standards thrust aloft.
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