Sol 6.1

  1. Oh, would that I were a keen sword,

    Or a cannon firing deadly projectiles,

  2. Or a remote stronghold, loftily built,

    Or a proud cruiser standing guard,

  3. Or a soldier, ready for battle and on campaign.

    I would defend my people and my sultan,

  4. And strike the stubborn, aggressive foe,

    Until I saw my precious, dearly valued blood

  5. Flowing on the earth between the ranks,

    As their full-grown steeds passed over my torn remains,

  6. And so my body utterly disintegrated;

    Or I would win victory over my enemies,

  7. Then return, proclaiming God's greatness and boasting,

    My banner having overshadowed their land

  8. And stood, condemning them to abasement;

    So my standing among my nation would rise in honor,

  9. And I would gain fair renown and lofty honors—

    Better than the helplessness that made me weep,

  10. Until I lost my youth in anguish.

    I have no concern but my mind's being filled

  11. With every matter that cannot bring back the past.

    I complain of the foes and recite rhymed verses,

  12. Yet no one has answered my call,

    Nor has anyone who saw my misery pitied me.

  13. O Caliph of God, may you remain safe

    From calamities, striving in jihad,

  14. And may the best of prophets remain pleased

    With you, and may the Muslims' lives remain serene.

Sol 6.1