مولاي يا قاضي العساكر — أبو المعالي الطالوي

My lord, O judge of the armies,

O you whose favors my tongue thanks,

O scholar, exalted beyond any likeness,

beyond partiality and beyond any rival;

whose generosity overflows through acts of favor

that relate the two traditions of Ata and Jabir,

varied in their outpouring at every moment:

excellence flourishes, and the hand is full.

God is pleased with the people

whom you govern, forbidding and commanding.

Religion now rests content,

and sacred law now spreads your praise.

You have followed in it the guidance of a shaykh,

a true imam, a defender of the faith.

And I went in the two cloaks of the trustworthy,

trailing the concealing hem of chastity.

What are the surging sea and the dazzling full moon,

the pouring rain and the lion in his lair,

when boasting, when conversing by night,

when vying in abundance, when contending for honor?

My lord, O qibla of hopes,

and Kaaba of excellence and noble deeds,

and you whose glory none can rival,

with glorious deeds to your name when you challenge;

whose open countenance delights in beauty,

radiant and fresh as flourishing gardens;

whose sweet speech is delicate in wording,

and subtle in meaning to everyone who considers it;

and whose pure lineage is garlanded

with their necklaces by the radiant stars.

You long ago inherited the eminence of forefathers,

whose accounts appear in the books.

They raised high honors and ruled over lords,

with thrusts of dusky lances and with cutting swords.

From every chieftain and every gallant man,

bright-faced, with a proud and radiant brow;

the nearest of them to you, dearly esteemed,

the pole of those before, the succor of those after.

My Lord bestowed on him gardens of eternity,

where, pure, he is given Salsabil to drink.

By his due as a learned and pious man,

and the secret of his communion is manifest in you,

will you not turn kindly toward a lovesick man

pouring down a rain of tears?

He left in Syria the best of homes,

and the best of neighbors, the dwelling flourishing.

What is the Garden of Eternity you would choose,

but gardens blooming there?

And the city of pillars is nothing but

a dwelling within her bounds, if you know.

At morn pregnant rainclouds came over her,

giving birth early in her soil.

Nor was the cradle of her hills ever empty:

within it, a tiny embryo of plants.

The daughters of glory bend tenderly over it,

nursing it so that it grows unveiled.

How many shady noonday resting places are there,

and how many a friend I left in parting;

and how many dwellings there, with lovely women,

each tender maiden a fetter for the eyes.

I left her, and parting is bitter;

how many heartstrings it tore in the lovesick man!

She said, when the mounts had been bridled,

and tears flowed, pouring down the cheek:

"If you seek high rank, then hasten

to a generous man's sanctuary, whose giving is abundant."

So I went, wearing out the mounts utterly,

knowing no sleep in the dark nights.

I cut across the desert's breadth,

on every sturdy, narrow-waisted, lean mount.

It moves by night with the darting motion of an ostrich,

plunging deep into the sea of mirage.

It races with the wind; then she stumbles,

spent, while it presses on toward the goal, weary.

The full moon appears from its forehead,

and the star retreats before its two white blazes.

So the sky's crescent is nothing but

a horseshoe thrown off by its hooves.

Nor are the brilliant stars anything but necklaces,

for which it scattered jewels from its ornaments.

Nor is Orion's belt anything but

a splendid adornment from it, hung about the neck.

It kept casting him toward his destinations,

and forsaking the water-stop in the midday heats,

until it brought him to a generous man's sanctuary,

whose seas of blessings surge:

chief of the people, full moon of high honors,

treasure of lords, pride of glorious deeds.

My lord, show compassion to a stranger

who now finds himself in Rum, not as a visitor.

The turns of time have ravaged him,

with oppressive injustice—may you be spared!

and broke apart his course of study,

which he had long pursued diligently.

Show him compassion, for in him

there is scope for kindness, and you are able.

And revive his lessons of learning

with a palm pouring forth like rain.

Hear me, O you for whom every tongue

strews praise in every eulogy.

In the ocean of your hoped-for kindness,

you set the ship of hope sailing.

And I do not fear its drowning,

and my good fortune saw a nighttime companion for it.

It sped like the wind in its blowing,

cleaving the sea of deliverance as it sailed,

and returned laden with your boundless bounty—

with pearls and jewels.

I sent you a necklace from them,

well-strung, dazzling to minds.

And I shall present you with another:

the blazing stars are her rival wives,

until all mankind says,

"You are no poet; you are a magician!"

And here, take a virgin that stirs remembrance

of the land of Busra, not the ravine of Amir.

Syrian-raised, from noble people,

Ta'i in ancestry and kinship.

Had Mihyar glimpsed a flash

from her sweet mouth, he would have remained bewildered;

and al-Hajiri, the man of letters, would have fallen in love:

she would have made him forget the lightning of Hima and Hajir.

Take her, unveiled as the full moon is unveiled,

slender of figure, with thick-lashed eyes;

gentle, full-hipped, hungry at the sash,

and her gaze—may you be safe—is languid.

You are her worthy match, a noble man,

and a dowry is required; you are its giver.

This—and a noble man's promise is a debt,

and delay is a disgrace in the great.

And win a prayer, and repeat the praise

of you, from me, fragrant as musk.

And remain safe, joyful throughout time,

as long as lightning flashes and a bird laments.