أرني العجائب يا أباها — Sharif Al Murtaza

أَرِني العجائبَ يا أباها

فكَبَخْصِ عيني أنْ أراها

Show me wonders, O father of them.

For seeing them is like having my eye gouged out.

وأجِل بعينِي ثُمّ قل

بي ذا جَواهُ وذي قَذاها

And let them roam through my eye, then

my heart: this is its burning grief, and this the eye's mote.

أرِني فبين جوانحي

ممّا تُرينيهِ لَظاها

Show me, for between my ribs

is the blaze of what you show me.

في كُلِّ يَومٍ مِن نوا

ئِبَ طارقاتٍ لي سُراها

Each day brings misfortunes,

night visitors whose journeys lead to me.

ما لي أُقيمُ على منا

زِلَ أوْحَشَتْ ممّنْ ثَواها

Why do I linger among abodes

desolate of those who dwelt there,

وتبدّلَتْ غيرَ الّذي

قد كنتُ أعهدُ من حُلاها

changed to something other than

the adornments I once knew in them?

آوِي هَواها بعدما

أسكنتُ في أَعلا رُباها

I harbor love for them, after

being housed upon their loftiest hills.

دِمَنٌ إذا مرّ اللَّبي

بُ على نواحيها طَواها

Ruined campsites: when a discerning man

passes their outskirts, he leaves them behind.

وكأنّه يأتي الحُتو

فَ أو الخسوفَ إذا أتاها

He seems to approach death

or the earth's engulfment when he approaches them.

وَإِذا الفتى ملكَ اِختيا

راً في مآربهِ عَداها

And if a young man has a choice

in pursuing his aims, he passes them by.

لك عِبرَةٌ فيمنْ عَرَتْ

هُ وعبرةٌ فيمن عَراها

You have a lesson in those she visited,

and a lesson in those who visited her.

هيهات منك إذا نَزَلْ

تَ بها على سَغَبٍ قِراها

Far beyond your reach, if you alight

with her hungry, is her guest-fare.

في قفرةٍ فقدتْ بها

عيني وقد تاهتْ ضِياها

In a wilderness where my eye has lost

its light and wandered bewildered.

عرّجُ على الأبواءِ منْ

عِيسٍ نَجَوْتَ به خُطاها

Turn toward al-Abwāʾ

the steps of the pale camels that carried you to safety.

وتعَدَّها فالحظُّ إم

ما كنتَ تبغي في سواها

Pass her by; good fortune, if

you seek it, lies elsewhere.

اِنظر إِلى النّعْماءِ والس

سَراءِ فيها هلْ تَراها

Look for prosperity and happiness

within her: can you see them?

وكأنّها في قَفرةٍ

عَصْفٌ تصفّقهُ صَباها

She seems, in a wilderness,

like chaff buffeted by its east wind.

ولقد عَفَتْ من قبل أنْ

أوْفَتْ فقلْ لي مَن عَفاها

She was effaced before

she reached fullness; tell me who effaced her.

قُلْ لِلقَطينِ بعُقرِها

وهو المواصِلُ لِمْ جَفاها

Ask the dweller in her heart,

once devoted to her, why he forsook her.

لِمْ ملّها من غير جُر

مٍ كان منها لِمْ قَلاها

Why did he tire of her, without an offense

on her part? Why did he loathe her?

مِن بعد ما كان المُعَر

رسَ والمُحبِّسَ لِمْ نآها

After once being her night-lodger

and one who lingered, why did he leave her?

سَلْهُ لتعرفَ غَيْبَهُ

لِمْ باعها لمّا اِشتراها

Ask him, to learn his secret:

why did he sell her when he had bought her?

ولقد لبستُ بها الغَضا

رَةَ والنَّضارةَ في دُماها

Within her I once wore ease

and bloom, among her doll-like beauties.

وعقيلةٍ ما لي إذا

ما زُرتُها إلّا هواها

And many a noble lady—whenever

I visited her, her love alone was mine.

وإذا تمنّتْ لم يَجُزْ

خَلْقي وأخلاقي مُناها

And when she wished, her wishes never passed

beyond my form and my character.

ما لي مَقيلٌ عند حَسْ

ناءِ اللَّمى إلّا حشاها

My only noonday resting place beside a beauty

of dusky lips was her bosom.

وليَ الغصونُ من الشّبي

بةِ لا أُحاذرُ من ذَواها

And mine were the boughs of youth,

with no fear of their withering.

وإذا سخطتُ فليس لي

مِن كاعِبٍ إلّا رضاها

And if I grew angry, I received

only the favor of a budding maiden.

فَالآن أُدعى شيخَها

من بعد أنْ أُدعى فتاها

Now I am called her old man,

after being called her young man.

لا أطْعَمَ الرّحمنُ دا

راً للهوانِ ولا سقاها

May the Merciful never feed a house

of humiliation, nor give it drink.

وَاِفتَرَّ عَنها كلُّ فا

تحةٍ بماءِ المُزْنِ فاها

And may every cloud that opens

its mouth with rainwater smile elsewhere.

فالفقرُ فيها للغنى

خيرٌ كثيرٌ مِن غناها

For being in want of wealth within her

is far better than her riches.

فإذا رهنتَ القربَ من

ها والدُّنوَّ على نَواها

So if you pledge your nearness to her

and closeness in exchange for distance from her,

آمنتَ نفسك طولَ عمْ

رِك من شجاها أو أساها

you keep yourself safe all your life

from her anguish or her sorrow.

ومعاشرٍ قبلوا بها

عن عِزِّ أنفسهمْ رِشاها

And many a band accepted, within her,

her bribes in exchange for their own dignity.

وتعوّدوا أنْ يأخذوا

بضراعةٍ منها جَداها

They grew accustomed to taking

her bounty from her with abject pleading.

وَالذُّلُّ في الدّنيا لمن

إِمّا اِتَّقاها أوْ رجاها

Humiliation in this world belongs to whoever

either fears her or hopes in her.

خَفيتْ فما تدري لحي

رتنا خَساها مِنْ زَكاها

She is hidden; in our bewilderment, you cannot tell

her odd from her even.

لم تَرضَ إلّا بالرّؤو

سِ وليس يُقنعها شَواها

She is satisfied only with heads;

their limbs do not content her.

ما للعيونِ عيوننا

فيهنّ حَظٌّ مِن كَراها

Among all eyes, our eyes

have no share of their slumber.

وكأنّما عَشِيَتْ ولمْ

يَلمُم بها هَرَماً عَشاها

And as though they had grown dim, although

no age-born dimness had touched them.

وَبِنىً يَقولُ خبيرها

شُلَّتْ أنامِلُ مَن بَناها

And buildings whose connoisseur says:

“May the fingers of whoever built them be paralyzed!”

وَأهاضبٌ ما كان إل

لا في الحَضِيضةِ مَن عَلاها

And crags: whoever climbed them was

never anywhere but in the depths.

وَأَكاذبٌ دَنِسَتْ مَدا

رِعُ من تلاها أوْ رواها

And lies: defiled are the tunics

of whoever recited or related them.

كم غُطِّيَتْ بتجمُّلٍ

للسّامعين فما غطاها

How often they were cloaked in finery

for listeners, yet it failed to cloak them.

أَين الّذين تبوّأوا

مِن هذه الدُّنيا عُلاها

Where are those who made their homes

in this world's loftiest reaches?

ولهمْ أناملُ لم يَفِضْ

في المُجدِبين سوى حِباها

Theirs were fingers: nothing flowed

among the drought-stricken but their gifts.

ما أَمسكَتْ يوم الوغى

إلّا ظُباها أوْ قَناها

On the day of battle, they held

only their sword-blades or their spears.

وَلَهمْ إذا اِجتُنِبَتْ شرا

رُ الحربِ منها مُصطلاها

And theirs, when people shunned the sparks

of war, was its very furnace.

وكأنّما أحداقُهمْ

حَنَقاً على حَنَقٍ جِذاها

And their eyes seemed

its firebrands, wrath heaped upon wrath.

وإذا الشّدائدُ في رِحا

لِ معاشرٍ ألقتْ عصاها

And when hardships in the encampments

of a people laid down their staff,

أرْوَوْا صَداها بالنَّجي

عِ وأشبعوا لحماً طَواها

they slaked their thirst with fresh blood

and sated their hunger with flesh.

لم يَسكنوا إلّا قِلا

لاً ليس يُرقى مُرتقاها

They dwelt nowhere but on summits

whose heights could not be scaled.

وإذا الوغى دارتْ بمكْ

روهٍ ومحبوبٍ رَحاها

And when battle's millstone revolved

with the hated and the loved,

لم يأخذوا لنفوسهمْ

إلّا مُناها أوْ رداها

they took for themselves nothing

but their heart's desire or their death.

من كلِّ وضّاحٍ إذا

عَرَضتْ له رِيَبٌ أباها

Each was a radiant man who, when

doubts arose before him, rejected them.

بلغ النّهايةَ في الورى

وكأنّه ما إنْ تناهى

He reached the utmost among mankind,

yet seemed as though he had reached no limit.

وإذا تولّى خُطَّةً

عن قومِه فَرْداً كفاها

And when he undertook a task

for his people, he alone sufficed for it.

ولَطالما أكدى الرّجا

لُ الحافرون إذا أَماها

How often men struck unyielding rock,

digging, while he reached water.

وعَمُوا عن العلياءِ شا

هقةَ المحلِّ وقد رآها

They were blind to glory, lofty

in station, though he had seen it.

ما كان يومَ عظيمةٍ

إلّا أَباها أوْ أخاها

On a day of great ordeal, he was

nothing but its father or its brother.

كانوا نجومَ الأرضِ سا

مقةً وهمْ مَوْتى ثراها

They were the earth's stars, towering high;

now they are the dead within its soil.

طُرحوا بحالِكةٍ جَوا

نِبُها دَحاها مَن دَحاها

They were flung into a place black on all sides,

spread out by whoever spread it.

يَمحوهُمُ بالرّغمِ مِن

آنافهمْ منها بِلاها

They are effaced, in spite

of their proud noses, by its decay.

دَرَجوا فما للعينِ بَعْ

دَ فِراقهم إلّا بكاها

They passed away; the eye has nothing

after their departure but its tears.