Another beautiful poem by al-Shābb al-Ẓarīf, ‘Afīf al-dīn al-Tilimsānī’s son, chock-full of badī’, smooth and musical.
Translation:
I have both nearness and distance in loving you
while yours is a beauty rare and wonderful
You whose beauty seeks refuge in your majesty
beware of the jealous eyes afflicting you
If you are not my eye, then you are its light
or if you are not my heart, then you are its beloved
Is there any refuge or mercy for a desperate lover?
for his help and his luck in loving you have diminshed
I’ve become so fond of poems in loving you romantically
that it’s as if romantic poems have become my in-laws through you
Give me a heart that burns in love
and spare a head from turning grey from the grief of rejection
I don’t have a single secret left to tell about myself
nor a heart, since it melted [out of love for you], I say
How many nights have I decreed that I stay awake, sleepless
while tears hurt my eyes in their rushing flow
The stars are closer to me than my hopes of being with you
and pleasing you is further than their setting
The weather took pity on me, and its eyes
and eyelids, and its north and south winds
It is an eye that the arrow of separation strikes
and makes a torrent of its tears flow, striking me
Passion’s embers catch flame, were it not for mercy’s dew
the Judge of judges would condemn me to his burning blaze.
Original:
لِيْ مِنْ هَوَاكَ بَعيدُهُ وَقَريبُهُ
ولَكَ الجَمالُ بَديعُهُ وَغَرِيبُهُ
يا مَنْ أُعِيذُ جَمالَهُ بِجلاَلِهِ
حَذَراً عَلَيْهِ مِنَ العُيونِ تُصِيبُهُ
إِنْ لَمْ تَكُنْ عَيْني فَإِنَّكَ نُورُهَا
أَوْ لَمْ تَكُنْ قَلْبي فأَنْتَ حَبيبُهُ
هَلْ حُرْمَةٌ أَوْ رَحْمَةٌ لِمُتيَّمٍ
قَدْ قَلَّ فِيكَ نَصِيرُهُ وَنَصِيبُهُ
أَلِفَ القَصائِدَ في هَوَاكَ تَغزُّلاً
حَتَّى كأَنَّ بِكَ النَّسيبَ نَسِيبُهُ
هَبْ لي فُؤَاداً بِالغَرامِ تُشِبُّهُ
واسْتَبْقِ فَوْداً بالصُّدود تُشِيبُهُ
لَمْ يَبْقَ لِي سِرٌّ أقولُ تُذِيعُهُ
عَنِّي وَلا قَلْبٌ أَقُولُ تُذِيبُهُ
كَمْ لَيْلَةٍ قَضَّيْتُها مُتَسَهِّداً
وَالدَّمْعُ يَجْرَحُ مُقْلَتي مَسْكُوبُهُ
وَالنَّجْمُ أَقْرَبُ مِنْ لِقَاكَ مَنَالُهُ
عِنْدِي وَأَبْعَدُ مِنْ رِضَاكَ مَغِيبُهُ
وَالجَوُّ قَدْ رَقَّت عَليَّ عُيونُهُ
وَجُفونُهُ وَشِمالُهُ وَجنوبُهُ
هِيَ مُقْلةٌ سَهْمُ الفِراقِ يُصِيبُها
وَيَسِحُّ وَابِلُ دَمْعِها فَيصُوبُهُ
وَجَوىً تَضرَّم جَمْرُهُ لَوْلا نَدَىً
قَاضِي القُضاةِ قَضَى عَليَّ لَهِيبُهُ