الليلُ توأَمنيْ فَأمْسَى صاحِبيْ

الليلُ توأَمنيْ فَأمْسَى صاحِبيْ

ثمَّ افْتَرقنـا كاهِلًا يَبكيْ صَبِيْ!

ثمَّ افْتَرقنـا كاهِلًا يَبكيْ صَبِيْ!

Night made me its twin and became my companion.

Night befriended me, so it became my companion

Then we parted—a boy mourning a middle-aged man!

Then we parted, a lad weeping on my shoulder!

هُوَ فَحْمَـةٌ هامَ النَّهـارُ بكُحْلها

هُوَ فَحْمَـةٌ هامَ النَّهـارُ بكُحْلها

وأنا غَريبُ الّلونِ، أنْكرَني أَبيْ

وأنا غَريبُ الّلونِ، أنْكرَني أَبيْ

He is a lump of coal; day fell in love with its kohl.

It’s dark-complexioned, day charmed with kohl

And I am of an alien hue; my father disowned me.

While I, fair-skinned, even my father disowned me

ومَضَى إلى شَأْنِ القَبيلةِ، شاهِرًا

ومَضَى إلى شَأْنِ القَبيلةِ، شاهِرًا

سَيْفَ الفُحولَةِ، تارِكًا قَتْلاهُ بيْ

سَيْفَ الفُحولَةِ، تارِكًا قَتْلاهُ بيْ

And he went off on the tribe's business, brandishing

And went about the tribe’s affairs, brandishing

the sword of virility, leaving his slain within me:

The sword of gallantry, leaving me to my killing

أُمِّيْ، وَنصْفُ قَصيدَةٍ حُمِّلْتُها

أُمِّيْ، وَنصْفُ قَصيدَةٍ حُمِّلْتُها

لما سُؤالُ الرَّمْلِ أَنْهكَ مَركَبيْ

لما سُؤالُ الرَّمْلِ أَنْهكَ مَركَبيْ

my mother, and half a poem I was made to bear

Mother, saddled with half a poem

when the sand's question exhausted my vessel.

When the sand’s questioning wearied my mount

فَرجعْتُ تَحمِلُني الجِهاتُ بِلا هُدَىً

فَرجعْتُ تَحمِلُني الجِهاتُ بِلا هُدَىً

أنّى ارتَحلْنا كانَ شرْقِيَ مَغْربِيْ

أنّى ارتَحلْنا كانَ شرْقِيَ مَغْربِيْ

So I returned, the directions bearing me without guidance.

So I returned, the horizons guiding me without direction

Wherever we journeyed, my east was my west.

However we traveled, east was my west

يمَّمْتُ قلْبي صوْبَ عبْلةَ أرْتَجيْ

يمَّمْتُ قلْبي صوْبَ عبْلةَ أرْتَجيْ

نَسَبًا، يُخالِطُ في الموَدَّةِ مَطْلَبيْ

نَسَبًا، يُخالِطُ في الموَدَّةِ مَطْلَبيْ

I turned my heart toward Abla, hoping for

I inclined my heart towards a noble lineage

kinship that would mingle, in affection, with my desire.

In affection mingling with my desire

فَلَقيتُ ما لَقِيَ الغَريبُ، كأنَّما

فَلَقيتُ ما لَقِيَ الغَريبُ، كأنَّما

عبْدٌ تَسلَّلَ في عَباءَةِ أَجْنَبيْ!

عبْدٌ تَسلَّلَ في عَباءَةِ أَجْنَبيْ!

So I faced what the stranger faced, as though

I met what meets the stranger, as though

I were a slave who had slipped into a foreigner's cloak!

A slave stole into a foreigner’s robe!

يا عَبْلَ هذا الشِّعْرُ محْضُ غِوايةٍ

يا عَبْلَ هذا الشِّعْرُ محْضُ غِوايةٍ

لا دِينَ للشُّعَراءِ فيهِ ولا نَبيْ

لا دِينَ للشُّعَراءِ فيهِ ولا نَبيْ

O Abla, this poetry is sheer seduction;

O people, these verses are sheer delusion

in it, poets have no religion and no prophet.

Poets have no religion or prophet in them

شيطانُنا أُنثى، ونحنُ صِغارُها

شيطانُنا أُنثى، ونحنُ صِغارُها

ما ضَرَّها لو أنَّها لم تُنْجِبِ!

ما ضَرَّها لو أنَّها لم تُنْجِبِ!

Our devil is female, and we are her young.

Our devil's a female, and we her cubs

What harm would it have done her had she not given birth!

Would it harm her had she not given birth?

كنَّا سَخِرنا مِنْ مَجـــازٍ يَرْتضي

كنَّا سَخِرنا مِنْ مَجـــازٍ يَرْتضي

للْغَيْمِ بيتًا في حِمى «قَمَرٍ غَبِيْ»

للْغَيْمِ بيتًا في حِمى «قَمَرٍ غَبِيْ»

We had mocked a metaphor content

We used to mock the metaphor that gratifies

to give the clouds a home in the sanctuary of a “foolish moon”.

A cloud with a home in the sanctuary of a “foolish moon”

لكنَّنا شُعَراءُ، نسْتبكي الدُّمَى

لكنَّنا شُعَراءُ، نسْتبكي الدُّمَى

ونَذُودُ عَنْ ذئْبِ الجَمالِ بثعلَبِ

ونَذُودُ عَنْ ذئْبِ الجَمالِ بثعلَبِ

But we are poets; we coax tears from dolls

Yet we're poets who weep for idols

and defend beauty's wolf with a fox.

And defend gazelle beauty from the hyena

مِنْ كَرْمَةِ الّلغَةِ اعْتَصرْنا شِعْرَنا

مِنْ كَرْمَةِ الّلغَةِ اعْتَصرْنا شِعْرَنا

في كأْسِ أخْيِلَةٍ دِهاقٍ، فاشْرَبيْ

في كأْسِ أخْيِلَةٍ دِهاقٍ، فاشْرَبيْ

From the vine of language we pressed out our poetry

From the vine of language we pressed our poetry

into a brimming cup of imaginings—so drink.

In the chalice of Achilles, so drink!

تَعِبَ الهوَى مِنْ عاشقٍ عَطِشٍ يَرى

تَعِبَ الهوَى مِنْ عاشقٍ عَطِشٍ يَرى

أنَّ الجَمالَ بكَفِّ ليلى يختَبيْ

أنَّ الجَمالَ بكَفِّ ليلى يختَبيْ

Love grew weary of a thirsty lover who sees

Passion grew thirsty for a thirsty lover who sees

that beauty hides in Layla's palm.

That beauty hides in the palm of Layla’s hand

ها أنْتِ في مَعْنى الوَداعِةِ طِفْلَةٌ

ها أنْتِ في مَعْنى الوَداعِةِ طِفْلَةٌ

مَنْ أوْدَعَ الإنسانَ فيكِ لِتتْعَبيْ؟

مَنْ أوْدَعَ الإنسانَ فيكِ لِتتْعَبيْ؟

Here you are, a little girl embodying gentleness.

Look, you’re a child in the meaning of calmness

Who placed the human being within you, to make you weary?

Who charged man to dwell in you and grow weary?

عُيِّرتُ، ما انتَبهُوا بأنّي غيْمةٌ

عُيِّرتُ، ما انتَبهُوا بأنّي غيْمةٌ

لولا شَديدُ سَوادِها لمْ تَسْكُبِ!

لولا شَديدُ سَوادِها لمْ تَسْكُبِ!

I was taunted; they did not notice that I am a cloud

I was blamed, they never realized I'm a cloud

which would not pour forth but for its deep blackness!

Without its heavy darkness, it would not pour!

لوْ كانَ لوْني مَذْهبًا لَتبِعْتهُ

لوْ كانَ لوْني مَذْهبًا لَتبِعْتهُ

لكنَّ سيْفي في الوَقائعِ مذْهَبيْ

لكنَّ سيْفي في الوَقائعِ مذْهَبيْ

Had my color been a creed, I would have followed it;

Had my color been gold, I'd have pursued it

but my sword in battle is my creed.

But in events, my sword is my doctrine

وبهِ انتَزعْتُ مِنَ الوَرَى حُريَّتي

وبهِ انتَزعْتُ مِنَ الوَرَى حُريَّتي

وَنَقشْتُ فَوْقَ الماءِ وَجْهَ مُعَذِّبيْ

وَنَقشْتُ فَوْقَ الماءِ وَجْهَ مُعَذِّبيْ

And with it I wrested my freedom from humankind

With it I wrested my freedom from the earth

and etched upon the water my tormentor's face.

And etched above the water the face of my tormentor

والآنَ، تُسْلِمُني السَّماءُ لِرمْلِهَا

والآنَ، تُسْلِمُني السَّماءُ لِرمْلِهَا

غِمْدًا بِلا سَيْفٍ يُغبِّرُ مَلْعَبيْ

غِمْدًا بِلا سَيْفٍ يُغبِّرُ مَلْعَبيْ

And now the sky hands me over to its sand,

And now, the sky hands me over to its sands

a scabbard without a sword to stir dust on my playing field.

A scabbard without a sword to dusty my playground

ها قاتِليْ أعْمَى، رَضيْتُ بِسَهْمهِ

ها قاتِليْ أعْمَى، رَضيْتُ بِسَهْمهِ

كيْ لا يَرى إغماضَتي وتَقلُّبيْ

كيْ لا يَرى إغماضَتي وتَقلُّبيْ

Behold, my killer is blind; I was content with his arrow,

Look, my blind killer, I'm pleased with his arrow

so he would not see me close my eyes and writhe.

So he won't see me wince and twist

كأْسُ المنِيَّةِ، لا مَحالــةَ دونَـهُ

كأْسُ المنِيَّةِ، لا مَحالــةَ دونَـهُ

«يا عَبْلَ أينَ مِنَ المنيَّةِ مَهْرَبيْ؟»

«يا عَبْلَ أينَ مِنَ المنيَّةِ مَهْرَبيْ؟»

The cup of death lies, inevitably, before him:

The cup of doom, no way around it

“O Abla, where is my escape from death?”

"O people where can I flee from doom?”