وَمُغَنٍّ إِذا الغِناءُ شَفا الهَم

مَ أَعارَ القُلوبَ هَمّاً دَخيلاً

And a singer—when singing had healed grief—

lent hearts a grief alien to them.

خارِجٌ طَبعُهُ فَإِن دَخَلَ الدا

رَ كَرِهنا خُروجَهُ وَالدُخولا

His nature is out of bounds; and if he enters the house,

we detest both his going out and his coming in.

قُل لَهُ لا أَبا لَهُ حينَ تَلقا

هُ وَحاشاكَ أَن تَكونَ رَسولا

Tell him—may he have no father!—when you meet

him, though far be it from you to act as a messenger:

يا أَبا الفَتحِ ما غِناؤُكَ مَطبو

عاً وَلا مَأثَراً وَلا مَقبولا

O Abu al-Fath, your singing is neither natural,

nor handed down, nor acceptable.

ما تَخَيَّرتُ مِن كِتابِ الأَغاني

لَكَ شِبها إِلّا الخَفيفَ الثَقيلا

From the Book of Songs I could choose no

likeness for you except “the light—the heavy.”

لَو قَضى اللَهُ لي بِخيرٍ وَلِلنا

سِ لَكُنتَ المُعَلَّقَ المَحمولا

Had God decreed good for me and for all

mankind, you would be the one hanged and borne away.

وَلَكَم لَيلَةٍ رَعى مِنكَ سَمعي

وَفُؤادي مَرعىً وَخيماً وَبيلا

How many a night, because of you, my hearing

and my heart have grazed in a dire, pestilential pasture.

جَمُدَ الدُهنُ وَهيَ حَرّى فَقَصَّر

تَ فَضاهَت يَومَ القِيامَةِ طَولا

The oil congealed though the night was scorching; it shortened,

then rivaled Judgment Day in length.

ذُدتَ عَن عَينِيَ الرُقادَ فَلَم تَب

عَث نَشاطاً وَلا شَفَيتَ العَليلا

You drove slumber from my eyes, yet awakened

no vigor, nor did you heal the sick.

فَاِنصَرِف عَن كِلاءَةِ اللَهِ يا فَت

حُ بَغيضاً مُوَدَّعاً مَملولا

Go, then, out of God’s keeping, O Fath—

hated, bidden farewell, and wearied of.