إِنِّـي أَقَمْـتُ عَلـى الـتَّـعِـلَّـةِ بِالمُـنَـى فِي غُــرْبَةٍ قَالــــوا تَكُونُ دَوَائِــي
إِنْ يَشْفِ هَذَا الْجِسْمَ طِيبُ هَوَائِهَا أَيُلَطَّـف الـنِّـيــرَانَ طِيبُ هَـــــوَاءِ
عَـبَـثٌ طَـوَافِـي فِـي الْـبِـلاَدِ وَعِـلَّـةٌ فِي عِلَّــةٍ مَنْـفَـــايَ لاِسْتـــــشْفَـاءِ
مُـتَــــفَـرِّدٌ بِصَـبَــــابَـتِـي مُـتَــــفَـرِّد بِكَآبَـتِـي مُـتَـفَـــــــرِّدٌ بَـعَـنَـــــائِـي
شاكٍ إِلى البَحْرِ اضْطَرابَ خَوَاطِرِي فَيُجِيبُنِي بِرِيَـــاحِـــهِ الـهَــوْجَـــاءِ
ثاوٍ عَـلَـى صَـخْـرٍ أَصَـمَّ وَلَيْتَ لِـــي قَلْبـاً كَهَـــذِي الصَّخْـــرَةِ الصَّمَّـــاءِ
يَنْتَابُهَـا مَــوْجٌ كَـمَــوْجِ مَـكَـارِهِـــي ويفتها كالسقـــم فــي أعضــائي
يا لَـلْـغُــرُوبِ وَمَــا بِـهِ مِــنْ عَــبْـرَةٍ للِمْسْتَـــهَـــامِ وَعِـــبْـرَةٍ لِلـــــرَّائي
أَوَلَيْـسَ نَـزْعـاً لِـلـنَّـهَـارِ وَصَـــرْعَــةً لِلشَّمْسِ بَيْنَ مَــــآتِـمِ الأَضْـــــوَاءِ
وَخَوَاطِـرِي تَبْـدُو تُجَــاهَ نَـوَاظِــرِي كَلْمَى كَدَامِــيَةِ السَّحَـابِ إزَائِــي
ولـقـد ذكـرتـك والـنـهــــار مـــودع والقلــب بين مهــــابة ورجـــــاء
وَالشَّمْسُ فِي شَفَـقٍ يَسِيلُ نُضَــارُهُ فَوْقَ الْعَقِيقِ عَلـى ذُرىً سَــوْدَاء
مَرَّتْ خِـــلاَلَ غَمَــــامَتَيْنِ تَحَــــدُّراً وَتَقَطَّـــرَتْ كَالدَّمْعَــةِ الحَمْـــرَاءِ
فَكَأَنَّ آخِــرَ دَمْـعَــــةٍ لِلْكَـــوْنِ قَــــدْ مُزِجَـتْ بِآخِــرِ أَدْمُعِـي لِـرِثَـائِـي
وَكأَنَّـنِـي آنَسْـتُ يَـوْمِــــيَ زَائِــــــلاً فَرَأَيْتُ فِي المِرْآةِ كَيْفَ مَسَـائي
Evening
By Khalil Mutran
I dwelt beyond my native air, where told
By trusted tongues, in hope to be restored.
Should sweet be the air, healing to the flesh,
Can it subdue longing that burns afresh?
Fruitless my travels, but grief within grief,
My healing sojourn brought no soul relief.
Alone with ineffable yearnings’ strain,
Alone with grief, alone with ache and pain.
I pour my storm-worn mood into the sea,
It breaks in restless winds to mirror me.
I rest upon a rock, unyielding, numb,
Oh, would my heart become as cold and dumb,
Struck by the waves, as I by sorrows torn,
And thinned like flesh by creeping illness worn.
O sunset! What your hues in silence weave—
For seers, a sign; for lovers, tears that grieve.
Are not you the dying breath of day’s light,
The sun’s death in a wake held by twilight?
My mood, all wounded, reflects the dusk’s hue,
Like blood-red clouds suspended in my view.
As the day withdrew, remembered you, my love,
My heart between despair and hope did rove.
The sun dipped low in ruby-golden rest,
Its afterglow flowed on the hill’s dark crest
It slipped between twin clouds, and gently shed
Like a single weeping tear, crimson-red.
As though the cosmos wept its final tear,
Entwined with mine to sadly mourn me here.
As though I sensed my day fading—alas,
And saw my evening shadowed in the glass.
Translated by Mustafa Abdulmalek Al-Sumaidi
Yemen
