Have poets left aught that had not before been told?
Do you now know the house you did not know of old
O Ablah’s “Jiwaa’” home, of beloved ones, do tell
Good morn, Ablah’s home! May you ever fare safe and well
Jiwaa, Ablah has chosen as a place to stay
“Hazn”, “Samman” and “Mutathallim” were our folks’ way
Standing at the «ruins», place, where his beloved was/which reminds him of his love.
Should you, when seeing me, at once put on your veil
Know that I’m good at slaying knights in coats of mail
What you know of my good traits, you should others tell
If I am not wronged, with others I fare quite well.
But if I’m wronged, in punishment I’ll be hard and free
And as bitter as bitter-apple e’er could be
At night I took drink after hot winds came to rest
Drink bought with a coin whose condition was the best
From yellow bottle of many a fluted line
And from a white cloth-stopp’d ewer, I poured my wine
Talking about his beloved and about himself.
Mu’allaqāt
I kept what my uncle entrusted to my care
During battles, when tightened lips one’s teeth laid bare.
From bloody fields of death, heroes ne’er back away.
But of death’s horrors they mutter what they must say.
Tween them, and foes spears, they place me in tightest spot.
I cower not, but space to fight I have not got.
The self-urging host had advanced on us in force.
I wheeled at them straight on, and blameless held my course
Talking about himself , as a brave man, about battles.
My soul’s canker when knights to me called out
“Curses, Antara ! Advance and put them to the rout!
Steeds, scowling with horror, tear through low, pot-holed ground
Large, small, hirsute, smooth — all are to the battle bound.
Wherever I lead my camels, me they will e’er obey,
My mind e’er leads me to the straight and righteous way
I’m loath to die while the battle is still not on
With “Dhamdham’s” sons whose vengeful ire is too far gone.
Talks about battle, camels, heroism.
…
