لِمَن دِمنٌ كَأَنَّهُنَّ صَحائِفُ

قِفارٌ خَلا مِنها الكَثيبُ فَواحِفُ

For whom are loins like scrolls

Deserted plains devoid of dunes and hills

فَما أَحدَثَت فيها العُهودُ كَأَنَّما

تَلَعَّبُ بِالسَمّانِ فيها الزَخارِفُ

Time has not worn them though seasons shift

As if a child plays on them with decorations

أَكَبَّ عَلَيها كاتِبٌ بِدَواتِهِ

يُقيمُ يَدَيهِ تارَةً وَيُخالِفُ

A scribe set to work there with his tools

Raising his hands at times, at others not

رَجا صُنعَهُ ما كانَ يَصنَعُ ساجِياً

وَيَرفَعُ عَينَيهِ عَنِ الصُنعِ طارِفُ

He hoped to mimic what a craftsman created

Lifting his eyes from the work in disdain

وَشَوهاءَ لَم توشَم يَداها وَلَم تُذَل

فَقاظَت وَفيها بِالوَليدِ تَقاذُفُ

An ugly lass whose hands bear no henna nor shame

Awakened, tossing with passion a newborn babe

وَتُعطيكَ قَبلَ السَوطِ مِلءَ عِنانِها

وَإِحضارَ ظَبيٍ أَخطَأَتهُ المَجادِفُ

She gives you before the whip her reins in full

And fetching a gazelle she had missed with arrows

بَلِلتُ بِها يَومَ الصُراخِ وَبَعضُهُم

يَخُبُّ بِهِ في الحَيِّ أَورَقُ شارِفُ

I soaked them on the day of shouting while some

Hide in the valley, leaves of trees their cover

بِبَيضاءَ مِثلِ النَهيِ ريحَ وَمَدَّهُ

شابيبُ غَيثٍ يَحفِشُ الأُكمَ صائِفُ

With a white like prohibition, wind and its gusts

Billowing clouds hover, rain showers not cease

وَمُطَّرِدٍ يُرضيكَ عِندَ ذَواقِهِ

وَيَمضي وَلا يَنآدُ فيها يُصادِفُ

A herd to please you when it's culled

Moving on, none matching it could perceive

وَصَفراءُ مِن نَبعٍ سِلاحٌ أُعِدُّها

وَأَبيَضُ قَصّالِ الضَريبَةِ جائِفُ

A yellow from a spring, a weapon readied

And white hot iron brands for marking slaves

عَتادُ اِمرِئٍ في الحَربِ لا واهِنِ القُوى

وَلا هُوَ عَمّا يَقدِرُ اللَهُ صارِفُ

The gear of a warrior in war not faint of heart

Nor is he heedless of what God destines

بِهِ أَشهَدُ الحَربَ العَوانَ إِذا بَدَت

نَواجِذُها وَاِحمَرَّ مِنها الطَوائِفُ

With it I witness war when claws unleash

And from it red squadrons take their leave

قِتالَ اِمرِئٍ قَد أَيقَنَ الدَهرَ أَنَّهُ

مِنَ المَوتِ لا ينَجو وَلا المَوتُ جانِفُ

The fighting of a man who knows fate

That from death he'll not escape nor death refrain

وَلَو كُنتُ في غُمدانَ يَحرُسُ بابَهُ

أَراجيلُ أُحبوشٍ وَأَسودُ آلِفُ

Were I in a scabbard whose door guarded

The bells of Abyssinians and tame lions

إِذاً لَأَتَتني حَيثُ كُنتُ مَنِيَّتي

يَخُبُّ بِها هادٍ لِإِثرِيَ قائِفُ

Then my demise would find me wherever I were

Hiding from my track a guide with tidings

أَمِن حَذَرٍ آتي المَهالِكَ سادِراً

وَأَيَّةُ أَرضٍ لَيسَ فيها مَتالِفُ

Do I recklessly court perils defiant

What land is without fellowship thriving?