لو أعتب الدهر من يعاتبه

If time would reproach the one who blames it, and soften its harsh flank toward the critics.

Or if it lent an ear to the complaint of one in anguish, catastrophes would pour down upon its heart.

I have taken your place in bearing the burning pain, which fate kindles deep within the ribs.

And I have never ceased to complain of it, nor have I ever grown tired of upbraiding it.

Alas for that noble steed! Can the one who weeps for it ever ransom it from death's pledge?

Had anything other than death sought it out, its sharp claws would have blunted it.

Or had anyone other than fate wooed it, the nose of its suitor would have been rubbed in the dust.

Or if a tender, compassionate protector had waged war on time, I would have stood in its face to fight it.

Because its armies of deep anguish settled upon me, and pitched their tents within my breast.

So I despair of its departure ever happening, unless the reinforcements of patience bring it to me.

A breath rebounds between my ribs, and because of its memory, my pathways grow narrow.

Alas for that steed! It has departed on a journey from which no traveler returns.

If the horses of the world knew who had died, their paths would grow narrow in their travel.

Or if the barren wilderness knew who was mourned, the clear tracks would be blocked for the travelers.

The wild beasts rejoice in the open desert for it, because its watering places are now empty after it.

Its stray beasts sleep with full eyelids, and its wandering herds graze with full bellies.

The winds weep together as it approaches, for in their rushing they are its kinsmen.

I remember it when the southern wind buffeted it, while it ran and the eastern wind turned aside from it.

And violent gales watched out for it in its presence, while crosswinds opposed it in its stride.

How fine it was while eyes gazed upon it, and you rode it on the day of the race!

You slackened the reins upon its neck, until whenever it turned, you pulled it back.

If it walked in the plain, it stirred what was still; if it walked in the rough ground, its companion cried out.

Even its envier grants it broad praise, and the one who pulls against it speaks well of it.

A dark bay whose white blaze resembles the dark night's moon, and whose leg-markings are its stars.

The meadow lent it the embroidery of its blossoms, so its color matched it in harmony.

A seeker whose fugitive cannot escape, and a fugitive whose seeker cannot catch it.

How many a troop marched beside it, while its squadrons quivered with pride!

And how many an army was adorned by its whinnying, while its battalions shook from its sound!

And how many a trackless waste it traversed as a path-finder; without it, fast camels would not cross it.

Bear it with beautiful patience; though you are stripped of a noble Abu Isa, death is the despoiler.

And whether death strays in its judgment or acts justly, man cannot overcome it.

In the hoped-for patron we have a successor for every departed one whose saddles have grown light.

If a noble steed perishes or you are struck by it, his bounties have not perished among us.

A noble steed is not truly lost if you have lost a precious treasure through him, as long as his giver lives.

May bliss remain ours as long as the sun shines and its blazing light clears away the dark.