يا بعد صبرك أتهموا أم أنجدوا

O, after all your endurance, did they head east or west? Far be it from you to stay patient and stoic.

Your yearning refuses to be subdued by flashing lightning, the sweet scent of wild lavender, or a singing bird.

In every horizon I have an attachment to a beloved, and in every land lies a patch of parched earth.

My time away from the homelands has not grown so long that I forget their ruins through sheer grief and numbness.

I passed by the deserted encampments after their enduring traces had donned the garb of raw wilderness.

So I summoned the water of my tears for their departure, and they poured forth until the guiding landmarks vanished.

I began racing toward the goal of my youth—those hills, while the limits of my endeavor retreat far away.

Had I whispered my heartbreak to the earth, the pure rock and hard stone in its courtyard would have melted.

Praise be to the days of youth and their beauty, and their supple, swaying branches.

Those days when I tossed my hair in joyous play among my peers, while my everyday tunic was tightly fitted.

I stalked the gazelles along the paths of youth, while the dark down of my first beard hunted them on my behalf.

Until gray hair overtook me before true wisdom did—yet the finest prelude to old age is youth itself.

I attained the age of reason while still young, and seeing clearly, the straightest path was illuminated.

The world served me the bitter dregs of its intoxicating hangover, and trials approached me like a brawler.

Neither a difficult objective nor anything the days keep far away has ever terrified me.

I draw distant goals close with a resolute spirit whose lowest resting places are the Suha and the Pole Star.

I journey while the darkness thickens, guided by a hope whose ultimate demands are glory and high standing.

Where the sharp edges of generosity and nobility meet, where their foundations are anchored and the reins are settled.

His courtyard is never violated, his neighbor is never wronged, and his spring never runs dry for those in need.

A sanctuary of noble traits whose courtyard no fault can reach, and from which no seeker of virtue is turned away.

He raises a blazing fire in the bitterest winter, while others kindle theirs low on the ground.

This is the shooting star whose light guides us, the standard of true direction, the peerless exemplar.

This is the one who crushed misguidance after the demons of error had grown utterly defiant.