أهلاً بدارٍ سباك أغيدها

Greetings to an abode whose slender beauty captivated you, long after its delicate inhabitants had departed.

You spent your days there folding inward upon a liver, bruised and swollen, pressed by a hand above the diaphragm.

O drivers of her mounts, while I reckon myself a dying man before I even lose her entirely.

Pause a little while there with me, for no less than a single glance is what I take as provision.

For within the lover's heart burns a fire of desire, beside which the fiercest flames of hell are cool.

Separation turned the parting of his hair gray, until the dark of it became like white Chinese silk.

They departed with a curvaceous beauty possessing hips so full they nearly anchor her when she rises.

Sturdy of build and dark of mouth, yet with an uncovered complexion of fair, striking radiance.

O blamer of lovers, leave a group whom God has led astray; how could you ever hope to guide them?

Reproach makes no impression on resolute souls, whose nearest concerns are the ones furthest removed from you.

Wretched are the nights I spent awake out of sheer delight, longing for one who sleeps peacefully through them.

I brought the night to life while my flowing tears aided me, their channels matched by the assisting dark.

Neither does my camel accept a rider behind me, nor do I drive her with the whip on the day of the race.

Her girth-strap is her saddle-frame, her muzzle is her rein, and her sole-thong serves as her leading rope.

The fiercest gust of wind is outrun beneath me by the steady, deliberate advance of her tread.

Across ground as seamless as the back of a shield, unbroken by the swells of its belly.

Hurled onward across valley floors and high ridges toward the son of Ubayd Allah.

To a noble youth who draws lances back out after having already quenched their thirst deep within hearts.

He has showered me with past favors so numerous that I try to count them only to lose track.

He gives without the bitterness of delay to muddy it, nor any subsequent reminder to spoil it.

The finest of Quraysh in ancestry and glory, the most abundant in gifts and the most generous.

He strikes down the lords and chieftains of his enemies, piercing them with the lance and cleaving them with the sword.

The most accomplished of horsemen, the widest in reach, the bravest raider, and the ultimate master.

A crown upon Lu'ayy ibn Ghalib, through whom its high branches and deep origins attained their height.

A sun of the mid-morning, a crescent moon of the night, whose minor gems are carved of peridot.

Would that a blow were dealt to me instead, destined for him just as it was destined for Muhammad.

It left its mark upon everything and upon the iron itself, while the Indian blade left no mark upon his face.

The wounds rejoiced when adorned with such a peer, while the very weapons that caused them looked on in envy.

Men grew certain that whoever planted deceit against him would eventually harvest it in his own heart.

His envious rivals found their very souls driven downward and upward by the force of his terror.

The scabbards weep for the blades inside them whenever he warns that he is about to unsheathe them.

Knowing well that they will turn into streams of blood and that he will return them to their resting places covered in necks.

He unleashes them, so that out of sheer panic the enemy condemns him while the friend praises him.

Sparks fly from the edges of his weapons, only to be quenched by the pouring torrents of lifeblood.

Whenever this high-minded leader risks his life, the tips of the enemy lances reach out to seek him.

All of creation has reached a consensus that you, O son of the Prophet, stand entirely alone in your greatness.

And that yesterday, while still a boy approaching manhood, you possessed the wisdom of the elders of Ma'ad.

How many profound and sweeping acts of grace have you nurtured, originating directly from your generosity.

How many needs have you granted before the time for asking even drew close to me.

And noble deeds that walked on the feet of righteousness, visiting my home repeatedly on your behalf.

My very skin acknowledges them upon me, so that until the hour of my death I could never deny them.

So return with them—may you never be missing—for the best of a generous man's gifts are those that keep coming back.