أراك عصي الدمع شيمتك الصبر

You shed no stubborn tears; your nature is to be patient. Does love hold neither prohibition nor command over you?

Indeed, I am yearning and harbor a burning ache, but a man like me does not have his secret broadcast.

When the night enfolds me, I stretch out the hand of longing and humble a tear whose very nature is pride.

The fire inside my ribs nearly blazes when ardent passion and deep thought fan its flames.

You who console me with union while death stands before it—if I die of thirst, may the rain never fall!

I preserved our bond while you squandered it, yet your excuses become you better than some forms of loyalty.

These days are nothing but blank pages whose letters bear the impression of their writer's fingertips.

I swear by my very soul for the young woman roaming the camp; my love for her is a sin, but her radiant beauty is her excuse.

She slips away to listen to my detractors, while I possess an ear that turns entirely deaf to every gossiping tongue.

I have gone out into the open while my family stays close at hand, because any home is a desolate wasteland if you are not part of it.

I fought my own people for your love, until they and I would have destroyed each other were it not for the water and wine of your affection.

Whether the gossipers spoke the truth or lied, the ancient kingdom of Himyar can tear down what disbelief has built.

I remained faithful, though in some faithfulness lies humiliation, toward a woman in the encampment whose habit is betrayal.

She is solemn, yet the first bloom of youth agitates her, making her rear up at times like a restless colt.

She questions me, asking who I am while knowing full well—is a youth like me in his current state unrecognizable?

So I replied as she and her passion desired: "Your slain victim." She asked, "Which one of them? They are many."

Then I told her: "Had you wished, you would not have tormented yourself nor asked about me, since you already hold the news of me."

She said: "Time has treated you harshly since we parted." I answered: "God forbid! It was you, not Time, who did this."

Sorrows would have found no pathway to my heart had it not been for you; but love is a bridge straight to decay.

A soul perishes between jest and earnest; whenever separation bypasses it, desertion comes to torture it.

Then I became certain that no lover after me will ever taste glory, and that my hands are completely empty of what I clung to.

I turned my affairs over, seeing no rest for myself; whenever absence makes me forget, desertion presses hard upon me again.

So I returned to the decree of Time and her decree: she commits the sin unpunished, and I bear the blame.

It is as if I were calling out across a desolate plain to a wild gazelle standing frightened on a high ridge.

She flees for a moment, then gazes back as though she were calling out to a fawn in the valley whom the tall grass has hidden.

Do not disown me, O daughter of my uncle; for both the nomads of the desert and the dwellers of the city recognize the one you deny.

Do not disown me, for I am a man who does not falter when footsteps slip and victory is called upon.

Indeed, I am the relentless leader of every battalion, accustomed never to let victory abandon its ranks.

Indeed, I am one who plunges into every terrifying abyss where those who enter receive hostile, sideways glances.

I endure thirst until the gleaming swords and lances drink their fill, and I go hungry until the wolf and the vulture are sated.

I never fall upon a peaceful, resting encampment with a raid, nor attack an army until the portents of warning have reached them first.

How many a fortified, fearless stronghold have I descended upon, bringing ruin alongside the dawn!

How many a tribe have I driven back with my cavalry until I conquered them in defeat, while the veils of their women retreated before me.

A woman trailing her garments approached me, and she met no harshness nor rugged obstacle in my welcome.

I bestowed upon her everything the army had gathered, and I departed without a single curtain of her tent being torn away.

Wealth never puffs me up with its garments, nor does poverty ever turn me away from generosity.

What need have I for wealth seeking its abundance? If I do not preserve my honor, then may no riches ever flourish!

I was taken captive, yet my companions were not defenseless in the heat of battle, nor was my steed an untrained colt, nor its master naive.

But when divine decree is sealed against a man, neither solid land nor deep sea can offer a refuge to shield him.

My companions said: "Flight or death." I replied: "Both are matters where the sweeter of them is bitter."

Instead, I press forward toward what brings me no shame; of two bitter choices, captivity is quite enough for you.

They tell me: "You traded your safety for destruction." I replied: "By God, no loss has touched me at all!"

Does death step aside from me for even a single hour when captivity and hardship step aside from me?

Death is simply death—so choose the path whose memory will elevate you; a person never truly dies as long as their renown lives on.

There is no goodness in warding off destruction through disgrace, the way Amr once warded it off with his ignominy.

They boast that they stripped my garments from me, yet the only garments upon me are soaked red with their own blood.

Among them lie the snapped blades of sword-tips and the splintered chests of broken spear-shafts.

My people will surely remember me when serious crisis strikes them; just as the full moon is missed only on the darkest night.

If I live, there will be the familiar lance-thrusts, the bright swords, and the lean, chestnut chargers.

And if I die, every human being must eventually die, even if their days are prolonged and their life is stretched out.

Had another man tried to plug the gaps I filled, they would have sufficed; but gold never commands a high price when brass is common currency.

We are a people who recognize no middle ground: for us is the highest seat above all the worlds, or else the grave.

Our very souls are cheap to us in the pursuit of high glory; the suitor who woos a radiant beauty never finds the bride-price too dear.

We are the mightiest of the world's sons, the loftiest of the exalted, and the noblest upon the dust—and this is said without mere empty boasting.