فما ماء مزن بات جفن سحابة — Sharif Al Murtaza

فما ماءُ مُزْنٍ بات جَفْنَ سحابةٍ

يصوبُ على أعلى الصّخور ويسفحُ

So no rainwater that lay overnight in a cloud's eyelid,

Falling upon the tops of rocks and pouring down,

توزّعَهُ عَبْرُ الرّبا فكأنّهُ

مُلاءٌ رحيضٌ بالفَلاةِ مُطرّحُ

Scattered by the flanks of the hills, until it seems

Like washed sheets cast out upon the wilderness—

وإِنْ صافحتهُ الرّيحُ وهي ضعيفةٌ

تمرّ عليه قلتَ صُحْفٌ تُصَفَّحُ

And if a gentle wind brushes against it

In passing, you would say: pages being leafed through—

بأعذبِ مِنْ فيها إذا ما توسّنَتْ

وهبّتْ وجلدُ اللّيلِ بالصُّبحِ يوضِحُ

Is sweeter than her mouth when she has slumbered

And wakes, while night's skin brightens with dawn.

وما روضةٌ باتَ الخُزامى يحفّها

ونَوْرُ الأقاحِي وسْطها يتفسّحُ

And no meadow ringed all night by lavender,

With daisy blossoms spreading through its midst,

كأنّ بِمَغناها تُفضُّ لَطيمةٌ

مُجَعْجِعَةٌ أو مَنْدَلُ الهند ينفحُ

As though in its grounds a perfume caravan were being unpacked,

Halted there, or Indian aloeswood were wafting fragrance,

بِأَطيبَ مِنْ أَردانها حينَ أَقبلتْ

وغضُّ النَّقا في دِرْعها يترنَّحُ

Is more fragrant than her sleeves when she came forward,

With a supple sand-dune swaying within her shift.

وَما مُغزِلٌ أَضحتْ بدوٍّ صريمةً

تفسّح في تلك الفيافي وتسرحُ

And no gazelle with a fawn, alone by morning in the wilderness,

Roaming freely through those wastes and grazing,

تفِيءُ إلى ظلِّ الكِناسِ وتارةً

تَشَوَّفُ من أعلى الهضابِ وتسنحُ

Returning to the shade of its covert, and sometimes

Peering from the hilltops and crossing into view,

بأحسنَ منها يومَ قامتْ فودّعتْ

قُبَيلَ التّنائِي والمدامع تنزحُ

Is lovelier than she was when she rose and bade farewell,

Just before parting, while tears poured forth.

وما وِرْدُ مطرودٍ عن الوِرْدِ خامسٍ

له كَبِدٌ من شهوةِ الماءِ تُقرحُ

And no draught for a camel driven from water, due for its fifth-day drink,

Whose liver is ulcerated by its craving for water,

تُسَقّى الهيامُ حولَهُ وهو ظامئٌ

فلا الوِرْدُ يُدنيهِ ولا هو يبرحُ

As thirst-crazed camels around it are watered while it stays thirsty,

So the watering-place will not let it near, nor will it leave,

بأروى وأشهى من رُضابٍ تمُجُّهُ

ثناياً عِذابٌ من ثناياكِ تَمْتَحُ

Is more thirst-quenching and more desired than saliva poured forth

By sweet incisors that draw it from your own.

وما نوحُ قُمْرِيٍّ على فرعِ أيكةٍ

يَعُنُّ له ذكرُ الفراقِ فيصدحُ

And no lament of a ringdove on a bough in a thicket,

To which the thought of parting comes, making it cry aloud,

لَهُ مَدمعُ الشاكي جفوناً وقلبُهُ

لما جرّه فقدُ الأليفِ مُقَرَّحُ

With a mourner's tears in its eyelids, and its heart

Wounded by what the loss of its companion has brought,

بِأَشجى شَجىً مِنِّي غداةَ ذكرتُكُمْ

ووادي مِنىً بالعيس والقومِ يطفحُ

Is more anguished in grief than I, the morning I remembered you all,

While Mina's valley overflowed with pale camels and people.

وما هزّةُ الدَّوحِ المُبِنِّ بقفرةٍ

تُزعزعُ منه الرّيحُ ما يتسمّحُ

And no swaying of a gnarled great tree in a wilderness,

In which the wind shakes whatever yields,

إِذا اِنتَشرتْ فيه الشّمال عشيّةً

رأيتَ حَماماً فوقه يترجّحُ

When the north wind spreads through it one evening

And you see doves rocking above it,

بأظهَرَ مِنِّي هزّةً يومَ أقبلتْ

تشكّي الهوى وحْياً به لا تُصَرِّحُ

Is more visible than my trembling, the day she approached,

Complaining of love in hints, without speaking of it openly.

تعاوَرَها خوفُ النّوى والعِدى معاً

فلا هِيَ تَطويهِ ولا هِيَ تُفصِحُ

Fear of separation and of enemies beset her together,

So she neither conceals it nor voices it plainly.

وما مُنْيَةٌ سِيقَتْ إلى كَلِفٍ بها

مُقيمٍ على تطْلابِها ليس يبرحُ

And no cherished wish brought to one enamored of it,

Who persists in seeking it, never turning away—

إذا لامَهُ اللّاحون فيها طَما بهِ

إلى نيلها شوقٌ لَجوجٌ مُبرّحُ

When reproachers blame him for it, he is swept

Toward attaining it by an insistent, tormenting longing—

بِأَشهى وَأَحلى مِن لقائِكِ موهِناً

وألحاظُ مَنْ يبغِي النميمةَ نُزَّحُ

Is more desired and sweeter than meeting you late at night,

With the gazes of would-be tale-bearers far away.

وما مُقْفَقِلُّ الكفِّ شَحْطٌ عن النّدى

له راحةٌ من ضِنّةٍ لا تَرَشَّحُ

And no shriveled-handed man, far removed from generosity,

Whose palm, from miserliness, will not exude a drop,

أَتاهُ الغِنى من بَعْدِ يأْسٍ وكَبْرَةٍ

فَلَيسَ بِشيءٍ خِيفةَ الفقرِ يسمحُ

To whom wealth came after despair and old age,

So that he gives nothing for fear of poverty,

بأبخلَ منِّي يومَ ساروا بنظرةٍ

إليكِ وأحداقُ الرّفاق تُلَمِّحُ

Is stingier than I with a glance, the day they set out,

Toward you, while the companions' eyes kept glancing.

حلفتُ بربّ الرّاقصاتِ عشيّةً

إلى عَرَفاتٍ وهْيَ حَسْري ورُزَّحُ

I swore by the Lord of the dancing camels at evening,

Bound for Arafat, weary and bowed with exhaustion,

ومَنْ ضَمّهُ جَمْعٌ وَبينَ بِلادهمْ

إِذا اِفتَرقوا سَهْبٌ عريضٌ مطوِّحُ

And by those whom Jamʿ has gathered, between whose homelands,

When they disperse, lies a broad, far-reaching wilderness,

وبالبُدْنِ تُهدى في مِنىً لمليكها

وتُدنى إلى أخرى الجمالُ فتُذبحُ

And by the sacrificial camels offered in Mina to their Sovereign,

And camels brought close to one another, then slaughtered:

لأنتَ على رغمِ العدوّ مِنَ الّذي

يُضيءُ سوادَ اللّيلِ أبهى وأملحُ

Truly, despite the enemy, you are—compared with the one who

Lights the blackness of night—more radiant and lovelier.

ونجواكِ تَشْفِي السُّقْمَ طَوْراً وتارةً

يُعَلُّ بنجواكِ السَّليمُ المُصَحَّحُ

And your whispered talk sometimes heals sickness, and at other times

Makes the sound and healthy fall ill.

وأنتِ وإنْ أوقدتِ في القلبِ جمرةً

تَلَظَّى على كَرِّ اللّيالي وتَلْفَحُ

And you, though you kindled an ember in the heart,

That blazes with the nights' return and scorches,

أعزُّ عليهِ موضعاً من سوادِهِ

وأعذبُ فيهِ مِنْ مُناهُ وَأَرْوَحُ

Hold a dearer place in it than its own dark core,

And are sweeter within it than its wishes, and more soothing.