Sol 5.6

  1. May my father be ransom for Hilal’s face—

    long has his concealment in prison endured.

  2. Confined to a house, his night in

    it is no different from his day.

  3. Though his dwelling is near, no visitor draws

    near to him, despite that nearness.

  4. Absent, he has shattered the strength of my support,

    and remembering him has wasted me away.

  5. His dwellings have grown desolate without him, though

    once they were my familiar companions.

  6. What a valiant man the days have carried

    off—his honor still inviolable!

  7. Time’s calamities struck terror into a youth

    by whom no neighbor had ever been terrified—

  8. like the blade of an Ashrafi sword,

    keen, its cutting edge burnished;

  9. sound in judgment, composed,

    his dignity steadfast in grave affairs;

  10. pure of every blemish,

    his breast unstained, his loins chaste;

  11. mature in lofty purpose and

    resolve, though no grey had touched his cheek;

  12. his beneficence ever wakeful—never does

    his fire sleep in times of distress.

  13. And when the flame of drought blazed up

    and its conflagration raged,

  14. his house, packed almost to choking,

    brimmed over with guests.

  15. Then only what remained afterward was his,

    while the guest received its choicest portion.

  16. A bough of generosity and piety,

    whose fruit is sweet to whoever gathers it.

  17. Long had he inherited lordly honor

    from a father whose lineage was pure.

  18. How could I not weep for a prisoner

    whose captivity is so hard to ransom?

  19. Afflictions have wronged him, with no

    hope of redress against them.

  20. And when shall vengeance be taken for one

    whose blood-debt is held by Time itself?

  21. Would that I knew: what excuse can an age

    that destroyed him offer?

  22. May God never spare an age

    that did not pardon his stumble.

  23. For indeed, he was a spring;

    his quarter dwelt safely beneath his protection.

  24. A character praised whenever tested

    in hardship and in ease.

  25. O generous one—none could ever

    catch even your dust in generosity!

  26. Through you life possessed its bloom

    and verdure; now both have departed.

  27. May no visit be sweet after you, O

    scion of al-Dawami.

  28. How bitterly, against my will, I see your

    abode wearing humiliation as its badge,

  29. dark in every quarter, with no

    beacon raised for the night traveler,

  30. abject, its sorrow showing

    upon it, together with its brokenness.

  31. No longer does it dazzle those who draw

    near, nor do its pregnant she-camels call.

  32. No—nor are its blades sharpened for

    great nursing she-camels with calves.

  33. This is the pent-up breath of a mourner

    whose endurance has betrayed him over you.

  34. His power to aid has fallen short, so

    tears and grief are the utmost he can reach.

  35. I shall surely prolong the span of sorrow

    for one whose concealment has lasted so long.

  36. Ah, what a sigh—what yearning for you,

    whose blaze can never die down!

Sol 5.6