ألا ليت شعري هل أبيتن ليلة — Malik Bin Al Reeb

أَلا لَيتَ شِعري هَل أَبيتَنَّ لَيلَةً

بِجَنبِ الغَضا أُزجي القَلاصَ النَواجِيا

Ah, if only I knew: shall I spend a night

Beside the ghada groves, driving the swift young she-camels?

فَلَيتَ الغَضا لَم يَقطَعِ الرَكبُ عرضه

وَلَيتَ الغَضا ماشى الرِّكابَ لَيالِيا

Would that the caravan had not crossed the ghada's expanse,

And would that the ghada had walked beside the mounts for nights!

وَلَيتَ الغَضا يَومَ اِرتَحلنا تَقاصَرَت

بِطولِ الغَضا حَتّى أَرى مَن وَرائِيا

And would that the ghada groves, the day we departed, had grown shorter

Along their length, so I could see those behind me!

لَقَد كانَ في أَهلِ الغَضا لَو دَنا الغَضا

مَزارٌ وَلَكِنَّ الغَضا لَيسَ دانِيا

There was, among the ghada's people—if the ghada were near—

A place to visit; but the ghada is not near.

أَلَم تَرَني بِعتُ الضَلالَةَ بِالهُدى

وَأَصبَحتُ في جَيشِ اِبنِ عَفّانَ غازِيا

Did you not see me trade error for guidance,

And become a campaigning warrior in Ibn Affan's army?

وَأَصبَحتُ في أَرضِ الأَعاديِّ بَعدَما

أرانِيَ عَن أَرضِ الأَعادِيِّ نائِيا

And I came to be in the enemies' land, after

Having seen myself far from the enemies' land.

دَعاني الهَوى مِن أَهلِ أَودَ وَصُحبَتي

بِذي الطَّبَسَينِ فَالتَفَتُّ وَرائِيا

Longing called me from the people of Awd, while my companions

Were at Dhu al-Tabasayn; and I turned behind me.

أَجَبتُ الهَوى لَمّا دَعاني بِزَفرَةٍ

تَقَنَّعتُ مِنها أَن أُلامَ رِدائِيا

I answered longing, when it called me, with a sigh;

Because of it, lest I be reproached, I veiled myself in my cloak.

أَقولُ وَقَد حالَت قُرى الكُردِ بَينَنا

جَزى اللَّهُ عَمراً خَيرَ ما كانَ جازِيا

I say, with the Kurdish villages standing between us:

May God reward Amr with the best reward He ever gave.

إِن اللَّهَ يُرجِعني مِنَ الغَزوِ لا أَكُن

وَإِن قَلَّ مالي طالِباً ما وَرائِيا

If God brings me back from the campaign, I shall not be—

Even if my wealth is little—a seeker of what lies beyond me.

تَقولُ اِبنَتي لَمّا رَأَت وَشكَ رحلَتي

سفارُكَ هَذا تارِكي لا أَبالِيا

My daughter says, on seeing my departure draw near:

'This journey of yours will leave me fatherless.'

لَعَمرِي لَئِن غالَت خُراسانُ هامَتي

لَقَد كُنتُ عَن بابَي خُراسانَ نائِيا

By my life, if Khurasan should take my head,

Indeed, I had been far from Khurasan's two gates.

فَإِن أَنجُ مِن بابَي خُراسانَ لا أَعُد

إِلَيها وَإِن مَنَّيتُموني الأَمانِيا

If I escape Khurasan's two gates, I shall not return

To it, even if you fill me with hopes.

فَللَّهِ درِّي يَومَ أتركُ طائِعاً

بَنِيَّ بِأَعلى الرَقمَتَينِ وَمالِيا

By God, how wondrous I was, the day I willingly left

My sons at upper al-Raqmatayn, and my wealth!

وَدَرُّ الظباءِ السانِحاتِ عَشِيَّةً

يُخَبِّرنَ أَنّي هالِكٌ مِن وَرائِيا

And how wondrous the gazelles crossing rightward at evening,

Telling me from behind that I was doomed!

وَدَرُّ كَبيرَيَّ اللَذين كِلاهُما

عَلَيَّ شَفيقٌ ناصِحٌ لَو نَهانِيا

And how wondrous my two elders, both of whom

Are caring and sincere toward me—if only they had restrained me!

وَدَرُّ الرِّجالِ الشاهِدينَ تَفتكي

بِأَمرِيَ أَلا يقصِروا مِن وَثاقِيا

And how wondrous the men who witnessed my recklessness

In my affairs, yet did not shorten my tether!

وَدَرُّ الهَوى مِن حَيثُ يَدعو صَحابَتي

وَدَرُّ لُجاجَتي وَدَرُّ اِنتِهائِيا

And how wondrous longing, from wherever it calls my companions,

And how wondrous my stubbornness, and how wondrous my desisting!

تَذَكَّرتُ مَن يَبكي عَلَيَّ فَلَم أَجِد

سِوى السَّيفِ وَالرُّمحِ الرُدَينِيِّ باكِيا

I thought of who would weep for me, but found

None weeping but the sword and the Rudayni spear,

وَأَشقَرَ مَحبوكٍ يَجُرُّ عَنانَهُ

إِلى الماءِ لَم يَترُك لَهُ المَوتُ ساقِيا

And a well-built chestnut horse, dragging his rein

Toward the water; death has left him no one to water him.

يُقادُ ذَليلاً بَعدَما ماتَ رَبُّهُ

يُباعُ بِبَخسٍ بَعدَما كانَ غالِيا

He is led in humiliation after his master has died,

Sold for a pittance after being highly prized.

وَلَكِن بِأَكنافِ السُمَينَةِ نسوَةٌ

عَزيزٌ عَلَيهِنَّ العيشَةَ ما بِيا

Yet near al-Sumayna there are women

For whom my plight makes life hard to bear.

صَريعٌ عَلى أَيدي الرِجالِ بِقَفرَةٍ

يُسَوُّونَ لحدي حَيثُ حُمَّ قَضائِيا

Stricken in the hands of men, in a wilderness,

They shape my grave's niche where my fate was decreed.

وَلَمّا تَراءَت عِندَ مَروٍ منِيتي

وَخَلَّ بِها جِسمي وَحانَت وَفاتِيا

And when my death came into sight at Marw,

And my body wasted there, and my end drew near,

أَقولُ لأَصحابي اِرفَعوني فَإِنَّهُ

يَقَرُّ بِعَيني أَن سُهَيلٌ بَدا لِيا

I say to my companions: 'Lift me up, for

It gladdens my eye that Suhayl has appeared to me.'

فَيا صاحِبي رَحلي دَنا المَوتُ فَاِنزِلا

بِرابِيَةٍ إِنّي مُقيمٌ لَيالِيا

O my two traveling companions, death is near; dismount

On a rise: I shall be staying for nights.

أقيما عَلَيَّ اليَومَ أَو بَعضَ لَيلَةٍ

وَلا تُعجلاني قَد تَبَيَّنَ شانِيا

Stay beside me today, or part of a night,

And do not hurry me; my condition has become plain.

وَقوما إِذا ما اِستُلَّ روحي فَهَيِّئا

لِيَ السّدرَ وَالأَكفانَ عِندَ فَنائِيا

And when my spirit is drawn out, rise and prepare

For me the lote leaves and shrouds at my passing.

وَخُطّا بِأَطرافِ الأَسِنَّةِ مَضجَعي

وَرُدَّا عَلى عَينَيَّ فَضلَ ردائِيا

And mark out my resting place with the tips of spearheads,

And draw the remainder of my cloak over my two eyes.

وَلا تَحسداني بارَكَ اللَّهُ فيكُما

مِنَ الأَرضِ ذاتَ العَرضِ أَن توسِعا لِيا

And do not begrudge me—may God bless you both—

The room you would make for me in the broad earth.

خُذاني فَجُرّاني بِثَوبي إِلَيكُما

فَقَد كُنتُ قَبلَ اليَومِ صَعباً قيادِيا

Take me and drag me toward you by my garment,

For before today I was hard to lead.

وَقَد كُنتُ عَطَّافاً إِذا الخَيلُ أَدبَرَت

سَريعاً لَدى الهَيجا إِلى مَن دَعانِيا

And I would turn back to charge when the horses retreated,

Swift amid battle to whoever called me.

وَقَد كُنتُ صَبَّاراً عَلى القرنِ في الوَغى

ثَقيلاً عَلى الأَعداءِ عَضباً لِسانِيا

And I was steadfast against my opponent in battle,

Hard upon enemies, sharp of tongue.

وَقَد كُنتُ مَحموداً لَدى الزادِ وَالقِرى

وَعَن شَتمِيَ اِبنَ العَمِّ وَالجارَ وانِيا

And I was praised for provisions and hospitality,

Refraining from insulting my cousin or my neighbor.

فَطَوراً تَراني في ظلالٍ وَنِعمَةٍ

وَطَوراً تَراني وَالعِتاقُ رِكابِيا

At times you see me in shade and comfort,

And at times you see me with thoroughbreds as my mounts.

وَيَوماً تَراني في رحىً مُستَديرَةٍ

تُخَرِّقُ أَطرافُ الرِماحِ ثِيابِيا

And one day you see me in a whirling mill,

The spearpoints tearing my clothes.

وَقوما عَلى بِئرِ السَّمينَةِ أسمعا

بِها الغُرَّ وَالبيضَ الحِسانَ الروانِيا

And stand at al-Samina's well, and tell

The radiant, fair, beautiful, gazing women there

بِأَنَّكُما خَلَّفتُماني بِقَفرَةٍ

تُهيلُ عَلَيَّ الريحُ فيها السَّوافِيا

That you two left me in a wilderness,

Where the wind heaps drifting sand upon me.

وَلا تَنسَيا عَهدي خَليلَيَّ بَعدَما

تَقطعُ أَوصالي وَتَبلى عِظامِيا

And do not forget my friendship, my two friends, after

My limbs are severed and my bones decay.

وَلَن يَعدَمَ الوالونَ بَثّاً يُصيبُهُم

وَلَن يَعدَمَ الميراثَ مِنّي المَوالِيا

Those close to me will not lack grief that strikes them,

Nor will my kinsmen lack an inheritance from me.

يَقولونَ لا تَبعُد وَهُم يَدفِنونَني

وَأَينَ مَكانُ البُعدِ إِلا مَكانِيا

They say, 'Be not far away,' while they bury me,

Yet where is the place of distance, if not my place?

غَداةَ غَدٍ يا لَهفَ نَفسي عَلى غَدٍ

إِذا أدلجوا عَنّي وَأَصبَحتُ ثاوِيا

Tomorrow morning—oh, my soul's anguish for tomorrow!—

When they depart by night from me, and I remain here.

وَأَصبَحَ مالي مِن طَريفٍ وَتالِدٍ

لِغَيري وَكانَ المالُ بِالأَمسِ مالِيا

And my wealth, newly gained and long held, becomes

Another's, though yesterday that wealth was mine.

فَيا لَيتَ شِعري هَل تَغَيَّرَتِ الرَّحا

رحا المُثلِ أَو أَمسَت بِفَلجٍ كَما هِيا

Ah, if only I knew: has al-Raha changed,

Raha al-Muthl—or is it, this evening, at Falj just as it was?

إِذا الحَيُّ حَلَّوها جَميعاً وَأنزلوا

بِها بَقَراً حُمَّ العُيونِ سَواجِيا

When the whole tribe settled there and brought down

Cattle with dark, tranquil eyes,

رَعَينَ وَقَد كادَ الظَّلامُ يُجِنُّها

يَسفنَ الخُزامى مَرَّةً وَالأَقاحِيا

They grazed, with darkness about to enfold them,

Now cropping lavender, now daisies.

وَهَل أَترُك العيسَ العَوالي بِالضُحى

بِرُكبانِها تَعلو المِتانَ الفَيافِيا

And shall I leave the tall pale camels at midmorning,

With their riders, climbing the firm desert uplands?

إِذا عُصَبُ الرُكبانِ بَينَ عُنَيزَةٍ

وَبولانَ عاجُوا المُبقِياتِ النَواجِيا

When bands of riders, between Unayza

And Bulan, turn aside their enduring, swift mounts?

فَيا لَيتَ شِعري هَل بَكَت أُمُّ مالِكٍ

كَما كُنتُ لَو عالَوا نَعِيَّكِ باكِيا

Ah, if only I knew: has Umm Malik wept

As I would have wept, had they announced your death?

إِذا متُّ فَاِعتادي القُبورَ وَسَلِّمي

عَلى الرَمسِ أُسقيتِ السَحابَ الغَوادِيا

When I die, visit the graves often, and greet

The burial mound; may the morning clouds water you.

عَلى جَدَثٍ قَد جَرَّتِ الريحُ فَوقَهُ

تُراباً كَسَحقِ المَرنُبانِيِّ هابِيا

A grave over which the wind has swept

Drifting dust like the tatters of Marnubani cloth.

رَهينَةُ أَحجارٍ وَتُربٍ تَضَمَّنَت

قَرارَتُها مِنّي العِظامَ البَوالِيا

A captive of stones and soil; there lie enclosed

In their depths my decaying bones.

فَيا صاحِبا إِمّا عَرضتَ فَبلغن

بَني مازِنٍ وَالرَّيبَ أَن لا تَلاقِيا

O companion, if you pass that way, be sure to tell

Banu Mazin and al-Rayb that we shall meet no more.

وَعَرِّ قَلوصي في الرِّكابِ فَإِنَّها

سَتَفلِقُ أَكباداً وَتبكي بَواكِيا

And unsaddle my young she-camel among the riding camels, for she

Will cleave livers and set mourners weeping.

وَأَبصَرتُ نار المازِنِيَّاتِ موهِناً

بِعَلياءَ يُثنى دونَها الطَّرفُ رانِيا

And I saw the fire of the Mazini women late at night,

On a height, before which the gazing eye is turned back.

بِعودِ النّجوج أَضاءَ وَقودُها

مَهاً في ظِلالِ السِّدرِ حوراً جَوازِيا

Fueled with agarwood, its blaze lit up

Wide-eyed oryxes in the lote shade, content with fresh pasture.

غَريبٌ بَعيدُ الدارِ ثاوٍ بِقَفرَةٍ

يَدَ الدَّهرِ مَعروفاً بِأَن لا تَدانِيا

A stranger, far from home, lying in a wilderness,

Forever, known to be beyond reach.

تَحَمَّلَ أَصحابي عَشاءً وَغادَروا

أَخا ثِقَةٍ في عَرصَةِ الدارِ ثاوِيا

My companions set out at evening and left behind

A trusted brother, lying in the dwelling's courtyard.

أُقَلِّبُ طَرفي حَولَ رَحلي فَلا أَرى

بِهِ مِن عُيونِ المُؤنِساتِ مُراعِيا

I turn my gaze around my saddle, but do not see

There any watchful eye of the women who bring comfort.

وَبِالرَّملِ مِنّا نسوَةٌ لَو شَهِدنَني

بَكَينَ وَفَدَّينَ الطَبيبَ المُداوِيا

And at al-Raml are women of our people who, if they saw me,

Would weep and offer ransom for the physician treating me.

وَما كانَ عَهدُ الرَّملِ عِندي وَأَهلِهِ

ذَميماً وَلا وَدَّعتُ بِالرَّملِ قالِيا

And my memory of al-Raml and its people was never

A bad one; nor did I bid farewell at al-Raml in hatred.

فَمِنهُنَّ أُمّي وَاِبنَتايَ وَخالتي

وَباكِيَةٌ أُخرى تهيجُ البَواكِيا

Among them are my mother, my two daughters, and my maternal aunt,

And another weeping woman who stirs the mourners to tears.