Sol 5.6

  1. A phantom revisited me and robbed me of sleep.

    It journeyed by night to the Mālikī woman after the night had waned.

  2. It drew near to visit her after long estrangement;

    it journeyed toward union with her after mere conjecture.

  3. It crossed the terrors, riding through them bravely,

    despite the weakness and cowardice within it.

  4. It passed the night giving me sip after sip of her nectar,

    like bees’ honey mixed with rainwater.

  5. And it recalled to me the days of youth—

    the earliest days—and the playgrounds of the flourishing tribe.

  6. Many a watering place I never thirsted for until

    I choked with weeping upon the water of my eyelids;

  7. and a full moon among the nobles of Banū Hilāl,

    appearing between a dune of pure white sand and a bough,

  8. offering me her lips as a sweet draught—

    those springs which, had she wished, would have given me drink—

  9. with a glance as keen as a sharpened sword-edge,

    while she was straight and supple as a tender bough.

  10. May the streams of my tears water her abandoned camps,

    pouring down from every rain-laden black cloud.

  11. May God bless that dwelling which calamities have wasted,

    despite its remoteness, even as they have wasted me.

  12. I stood there, questioning its two blackened traces;

    though the ruins could not speak, they made me understand.

  13. Whenever among the ruins I summoned tears to my aid,

    their channels failed one another and abandoned me.

  14. I went far away—yet what lightning-flash did not fill me with longing

    for you, and what dwelling did not stir my grief?

  15. Her bān-tree did not outstrip you; it merely

    imitated that swaying and graceful bending.

  16. The gazelle herd there leaves me desolate, until

    when they portray your shy flight, they console me.

  17. Separation was not the first thing with which

    the hands of calamity struck and nearly killed me.

  18. What passion has my heart ever escaped,

    and what bare arrow from it has failed to strike me?

  19. Would that the vicissitudes of time had turned a blind eye,

    making peace with me for all they took from me,

  20. and had consented to let me sell my honor

    for a paltry gift—a ruinously losing bargain;

  21. and let me forget a miser who will not answer

    my call, and an effaced trace that gave me no reply.

  22. Would that Time, since it would not remain at peace with me

    amid all its assaults, had not remained my adversary.

  23. I reproach what the days of my life have wrought—

    but what good are obstinacy and accusation?

  24. I have grown weary of dwelling in an abode of humiliation,

    continually dragging the train of disgrace and weakness.

  25. I see those whom my eyes do not yearn to see,

    and hear what my ears would rather be deaf to.

  26. At evening I conceal a sincere affection

    for one who folds rancor and deep spite within himself.

  27. I make myself approachable and gentle in manner

    toward coarse, ignoble men devoid of kindness.

  28. I compete for the affection of a brother whose love is tainted

    by malice, or for the generosity of a hand that reproaches its gift.

  29. Why should I abase myself when no submissiveness lies in me,

    for any favor, nor any infatuation with beauty?

  30. Why should fortune draw me—a discerning man—

    when the fool has entered without permission?

  31. Alas for what remains of a life

    in which my joy cannot balance my sorrow.

  32. If a young man can obtain his fill only through abasement,

    then let me go hungry while guarding my honor—let me go hungry.

  33. Whatever fear and injustice you please,

    strive against me with them, so long as you do not cast me away.

  34. Move on: in movement lie elevation

    and dignity, while humiliation attends the settled man.

  35. Though al-Zawrāʾ has become too cramped an abode for me,

    God’s lands have not become too cramped to contain me.

  36. Across the earth I have room to range and strive,

    and a field in which to gallop if this place cannot contain me.

  37. I shall hone from the keen edge of resolve a cutting sword

    that, when sharp blades recoil, will not betray me.

  38. I shall depart, shaking from my freeborn face

    the dust of humiliation, setting forth with my Rudaynī spear.

  39. And I shall emulate the sword’s self-sufficiency on the day of

    battle, by merit dispensing with scabbard and sheath—

  40. until I encounter either a day of good fortune

    that delights my kin, or the day of my burial.

  41. Perhaps life’s hardships will yield to what I desire,

    and become easy after long sorrow;

  42. perhaps resolve will raise me toward the heights,

    as one driven by necessity climbs vigorously to a rugged peak;

  43. then my hope will soon fasten upon my aspirations,

    while the days have not yet foreclosed upon my life held in pawn.

Sol 5.6