أشجى الرفاق تأوهي وتوجعي — Fahad Alaskar

أشجى الرفاقَ تأوّهي وتوَجّعي

وتمنّعي عن شُربها في المقوعِ

My sighing and anguish saddened my companions,

as did my refusal to drink it in the gathering place.

وأنا الذي بالأمسِ إن هيَ شُعشعَت

كم زُفّ لي قدَحي وغَير مُشَعشعِ

Yet I was the one who, only yesterday, when it was mixed,

so often had my cup brought to me, mixed or unmixed.

احنو عليهِ باسماً طرباً ولا

عجبٌ ولا حرجٌ حنوَّ المرضِعِ

I would bend over it, smiling with delight, and there was

nothing strange or shameful in my tenderness, like a nursing mother's.

وأضُمُّهُ شَوقاً قُبيلَ ترَشّفي

منهُ إلى كبدي وقلبي المولعِ

And, longing, just before sipping from it, I would clasp it

to my liver and my enamored heart.

وأقولُ للاحي به ذَرنى ولا

تنهَق فما أنا من ذواتِ الأربعِ

I would say to the one who reproached me for it, “Leave me be, and

do not bray; I am no four-legged beast.”

يادنُّ لا تنضُب ويا نَدمانُ خُذ

وعليّ يا ساقي ويا قدَحُ أصرعِ

O wine jar, never run dry! O drinking companion, take your share!

Pour for me, cupbearer; and you, O cup, strike me down!

ولكمَ شدَوتُ يوحيهِ ولكم وكم

أطرَبتُ من خلّ أديبٍ لو ذعي

How often I sang what it inspired; how often, how often

I delighted a discerning, literary friend.

العَسكريّاتُ الرقاقُ شَواهدٌ

سلها تُجِبكَ عن الهزارِ المبدعِ

The delicate poems of al-Askari are witnesses:

ask them, and they will tell you of the inventive songbird.

واليومَ قد آليتُ لا أحسو الطلا

رغمَ الصدى إلّا وأنتِ معي معي

But today I have sworn not to sip the wine,

despite my thirst, unless you are with me, with me.

ليلى أأشرَبُها وكاسُكِ فارغٌ

إني إذاً صبٌّ وحقِّكِ مُدّعي

Layla, should I drink it while your cup is empty?

Then, by your right, I would merely be pretending to love.

أعلى زفيرِ جهنّمٍ وجهنّمٌ

بزفيرِها وشهيقَها في أضلُعي

Is it the breath of Hell? For Hell itself

breathes in and out within my ribs.

أم وَحشتي يا للعناء وحيرتي

وأنا المشردُ في عراءٍ بَلقَعِ

Or is it my loneliness—what suffering!—and my bewilderment,

as I wander homeless through a desolate waste?

أم حرقَتي وهواجسي ووساوسي

وتذمّري وتمَلملي في مضجعي

Or is it my burning pain, my anxious thoughts and misgivings,

my complaints and my restless tossing in bed?

من لي بإنسانٍ يواسيني إذا

ما هاجتِ الذكرى ويَمسَحُ أدمعي

Who will comfort me when

memory surges up, and wipe away my tears?

وطني وكيفَ يعيشُ مثلي بُلبُلٌ

ما بينَ ثُعبانٍ يفُجُّ وضِفدعِ

My homeland, how can a nightingale like me live

between a snake and a frog?

في أسرةٍ نَقَمَت عليَّ لرأفتي

بفقيرها وصَراحتي وترَفّعي

Among a family that resented me for my compassion

toward its poor, my frankness, and my refusal to stoop?

جار الزامانُ فيا أساوِدَها الدغي

وطغى القضاءُ فيا ضفادِعها اشبَعي

Time has wronged me; O its snakes, go on with your deceit.

Fate has grown tyrannical; O its frogs, eat your fill.

ما كان مورِديَ الحميمُ لو أنّني

مَيتُ المشاعرِ لا أحِسُّ ولا أعي

I would not have reached this scalding spring if I were

dead to feeling, unable to sense or understand.

غبنٌ يشفُّ الروحَ أن تتفَتَّحَ

الأورادُ بين الوحلِ والمستنقَعِ

It is an injustice that wears the spirit thin when

roses open amid mud and marsh.

وطني ولي حقٌّ عليكَ أضعتَهُ

وحفِظتَ حقَّ الداعر المتسَكّعِ

My homeland, I had a right you squandered,

while you protected the right of the dissolute wanderer.

فلو أنّ لي طبلاً ومِزماراً لما

أقصَيتَني أو أنّ لي في المخدعِ

If I had a drum and a flute, you would not

have cast me out—or if I had something in the bedchamber.

هذي عقوبةُ مَوطني وجنايَتي

هيَ أنّني لتيوسِهِ لم أركَعِ

This is my homeland's punishment, and my offense

is that I would not bow to its goats.

فَقَبَعتُ في داري كصَقرٍ شاكياً

ولو أنّنا في غيرهِ لم نَقبَعِ

So I crouched in my home like a complaining falcon;

had we been elsewhere, we would not have had to crouch.

فلسَوفَ أمكثُ فيه ما شاءَ القضا

ولسَوفَ أرحَلُ عنه غيرَ مودعِ

I shall remain there as long as fate wills,

and I shall leave it without saying farewell.

فاطوي شباكَكِ يا هلوكُ فما أنا

بالخائنِ المتلَوّنِ المتصَنّعِ

Fold up your nets, O wanton woman, for I am no

treacherous, changeable pretender.

خُلِقَ الأثيمُ مُبَرقَعاً فثوى به

وأنا خُلِقتُ وعِشتُ غيرَ مُبَرقعِ

The sinner was born masked and has remained so;

I was born and have lived unmasked.

وَطني شكَوتُ لك الصدى فملأت لي

كاسي وغيرَ الصاب لم أتجَرَّعِ

My homeland, I complained to you of thirst, and you filled

my cup; I drank nothing but bitter sap.

وَوَأدتُ في فجرِ الشباب مآربي

وبكيتُها يا ليتَهُ لم يطلعِ

I buried my hopes at the dawn of youth

and wept for them; I wish that dawn had never risen.

لهفي على قلبي الجريح ولَوعَتي

ماذا جنى يا لَيتَني لم أزرَعِ

Alas for my wounded heart and my burning grief!

What wrong did it commit? I wish I had never sown.

ألقردُ أضحى لاعباً في ملعَبي

وغدا ابنُ آوى راتعاً في مَرتَعي

Has the monkey begun to play in my playground,

and the jackal to graze in my pasture?

اللَهُ أكبرُ كيفَ يُحفَظُ حقُّ مَن

ركِبَ الخنا ويُداسُ حقّ الألمعي

God is greatest! How can the rights of one who

commits obscenity be guarded, while the brilliant person's rights are trampled?

بل كيفَ يُمسي ذلك الباغي وقد

ثَبَتَت إدانَتُهُ ويُصبحُ مُدّعي

And how can that oppressor spend the evening free when

his guilt is proven, then appear in the morning as the accuser?

أمنَ العدالة ربّ أن أشقى وأن

أشكو جراحي مُكرَهاً للمِبضَعِ

Lord, is it justice that I suffer and

am forced to bring my wounds to the surgeon's knife?

وطني وللدارِ الجديدةِ جارةٌ

لولا هواها عشتُ غيرَ مُضَيّعِ

My homeland, the new house has a neighbor;

but for love of her, I would have lived without being lost.

لم تَبلُغِ العشرينَ ذات وسامَةٍ

ورشاقةٍ وتدَلّلٍ وتمَنّعِ

She has not reached twenty; she is beautiful,

graceful, coy, and reserved.

والحبّ قهّارٌ ولولا قيدهُ

لسَمِعتَ في الفَيحاءِ ما لم تَسمَعِ

Love is overpowering; were it not for its bonds,

you would hear in al-Fayha what you have never heard

من عَندليبٍ إذ رمَيتَ أصَبتَهُ

فهوى ومَن للعَندليبِ الموجَعِ

from a nightingale: when you aimed at him, you struck him;

he fell—and who will tend the wounded nightingale?

فلعلّ ليلاهُ تريشُ جناحَهُ

ما كان أشوَقهُ لتلكَ الأربُعِ

Perhaps his Layla will feather his wing again.

How he has longed for those dwellings,

بكرومِها وظِبائِها وجنانها

بزُهورِها وعبيرَها المتَضَوّعِ

with their vines, gazelles, and gardens,

their flowers and spreading fragrance!

شوقي لها أوّاهُ من شوقي لها

شوقي لليلى والليالي الأربعِ

My longing for her—ah, how I long for her!

I long for Layla and the four nights.

وطني وما يوم الرحيل بشاحطٍ

عن شاعرٍ مُتَوجّع مُتَقَطّعِ

My homeland, the day of departure is near

for a poet in pain, torn apart,

قلقٍ آذابَ الهمُّ حبَّةَ قَلبهِ

فتَرَقرَقَت في مقلَةٍ لم تهجَعِ

anxious, whose heart's core grief has melted,

so that tears gathered in an eye that never slept.

ناجي رؤاهُ فيا بلابلُ ردّدي

وبكى مُناهُ فيا حمائِمُ رجّعي

He confided in his visions—O nightingales, echo him—

and wept for his hopes—O doves, repeat his cry.

يَستعرضُ الماضي بطرفٍ دامعٍ

وبخافقٍ في الذكرياتِ موزّع

He surveys the past with a tearful eye

and a heart scattered among memories.

ما خرّ قطّ لغيرِ ليلى ساجداً

ولغير سلطانِ الهوى لم يَخضَعِ

He has never fallen prostrate before anyone but Layla,

and has bowed to no power but love.

لم يَشدُ إلّا باسعِها وجمالِها

وبغير وحيِ ضميره لم يَصدَعِ

He sang only of her unclear epithet and her beauty,

and spoke out only at the prompting of his conscience.

كم باتَ ينشدُ في الدياجي طيفَها

ويبثّهُ الأشواقَ حتّى المطلَعِ

How often he spent the dark nights seeking her image

and telling it of his longing until dawn.

مُتدلّهٍ يَبكي ويَلثُمُ رَسمَها

ويَضُمُّهُ لفؤادهِ المتقَطّع

Distraught, he weeps and kisses her likeness,

and presses it to his breaking heart.

وعلى شذا منديلها كم سَكرةٍ

لفؤادهِ المتلَهِّفِ المتطَلّعِ

How many moments of rapture the scent of her handkerchief brought

to his eager, yearning heart!

فمتى يُحلّ إسارها ليحلَّ في

تلك الرياضِ مع الطيورِ السّجعِ

When will her bonds be loosened, so he may dwell

in those gardens among the singing birds?