أَلا أَبلِغا عَنّي زياداً مآلِكاً
رَسولاً إِلَيهِ حَيثُ ما كانَ مِن أَرضِ
Listen, you two: convey messages from me to Ziyād,
a missive to him, in whatever land he may be.
فَما لَكَ مَسهوماً إِذا ما لقيتَني
تُقَطِّعُ دوني طَرفَ عَينيكَ كَالمُغضي
So why are you so sullen whenever you meet me,
averting your eyes from me like one who lowers his gaze?
وَمالي إِذا ما أَخلَقَ الوُدُّ بَينَنا
أُمِرُّ القُوى مِنهُ وَتَعمَلُ في النَقضِ
And why, whenever affection between us grows threadbare,
do I twist its strands tight while you work to unravel them?
أَلَم تَرَ أَنّي لا أُلَوِّنُ شيمَتي
تَلَوُّنَ غولِ اللَيلِ بِالبَلَدِ المُفضي
Have you not seen that I do not change my character
as the night-ghoul changes shape in the open wilderness?
وَلَكِنَّني أَرمي العَدوَّ بِصَيلَمٍ
تَصَدَّعُ مِنها الأَرضُ بِالطولِ والعَرضِ
But I hurl at the enemy a crushing calamity,
from which the earth splits along its length and breadth.
وَلَستُ بِناموسٍ سَبوتٍ دَلَهمَسٍ
كَحُمّى هُلاعٍ لا تَبوخُ وَلا يَقضي
Nor am I a skulking, slumbering schemer,
like a wolf's fever: it never subsides, nor does he die.
وَلَستُ بِرَشّاشٍ رَشيقٍ مُلَهوَقٍ
جَوادٍ بِمَكذوبِ المَواعِدِ وَالقَرضِ
Nor am I a frivolous, nimble pretender,
generous with false promises and praise.
وَلَستُ كَماءِ القاعِ يُحسَب رَيَّةً
وَيُدرَك ضَحلاً بَعدَ مَظمَإِهِ الدَحضِ
Nor am I like water on a low plain, thought to quench thirst,
but found shallow after crossing its parched, slippery stretch.
فَسَل بي وَلا تَستَحي مِنّي فَإِنَّهُ
كَذَلِكَ بَعضُ الناسِ يَسأَلُ عَن بَعضِ
So ask about me, and do not be shy with me, for
thus do some people inquire about others.
Sol 6.1