قِفْ بِالدِّيَارِ وَصِحْ إِلَى بَيْدَاهَا lyrics

قِفْ بِالدِّيَارِ وَصِحْ إِلَى بَيْدَاهَا

Qif bi-d-diyāri wa ṣiḥ ilā baydāhā

Stand by the dwellings and call to their barren lands,

فَعَسَى الدِّيَارُ تُجِيبُ مَنْ نَادَاهَا

Perhaps the dwellings will answer him who calls them.

دَارٌ يَفُوحُ الْمِسْكُ مِنْ عَرَصَاتِهَا

A dwelling from whose courtyards musk diffuses,

وَالْعُودُ وَالنَّدُّ الذَّكِيُّ جَنَاهَا

And oud and fragrant ambergris are its harvest.

دَارٌ لِعَبْلَةَ شَطَّ عَنْكَ مَزَارُهَا

A dwelling for Abla, whose visit is far from you,

وَنَأَتْ لَعَمْرِي مَا أَرَاكَ تَرَاهَا

And she is distant, by my life, I don't think you'll see her.

مَا بَالُ عَيْنِكَ لَا تَمَلُّ مِنَ الْبُكَاءِ

What is wrong with your eye that it does not cease weeping?

رَمَدٌ بِعَيْنِكَ أَمْ جَفَاكَ كَرَاهَا

Is it conjunctivitis in your eye, or has sleep abandoned it?

يَا صَاحِبَيَّ قِفَا بِالْمَطَايَا سَاعَةً

O my two companions, stop the mounts for an hour,

فِي دَارِ عَبْلَةَ سَائِلَيْنِ مَغْنَاهَا

At Abla's dwelling, asking about her abode.

أَمْ كَيْفَ تَسْأَلُ دِمْنَةً عَادِيَةً

Or how can you ask a worn-out trace,

سَفَتِ الْجَنُوبُ دِمَانَهَا وَثَرَاهَا

Safati l-janūbu dimānahā wa tharāhā

Whose traces and dust the south wind has swept away?

يَا عَبْلَ قَدْ هَامَ الْفُؤَادُ بِذِكْرِكُمُ

O Abla, my heart has been infatuated with your memory,

وَأَرَى دُيُونِي مَا يَحُلُّ قَضَاهَا

Wa-arā duyūnī mā yaḥullu qaḍāhā

And I see my debts (of love) whose payment is not due.

يَا عَبْلَ إِنْ تَبْكِي عَلَيَّ بِحُرْقَةٍ

O Abla, if you weep for me with anguish,

فَلَطَالَمَا بَكَتِ الرِّجَالُ نِسَاهَا

Fa-laṭālamā bakati r-rijālu nisāhā

Then men have often wept for their women.

يَا عَبْلَ إِنِّي فِي الْكَرِيهَةِ ضَيْغَمٌ

O Abla, in battle I am a fierce lion,

شَرِسٌ إِذَا مَا الطَّعْنُ شَقَّ جِبَاهَا

Savage when the thrusts split foreheads.

وَدَنَتْ كِبَاشٌ مِنْ كِبَاشٍ تَصْطَلِي

Wa-danat kibāshun min kibāshin taṣṭalī

And rams (warriors) approached rams, warming themselves

نَارَ الْكَرِيهَةِ أَوْ تَخُوضُ لَظَاهَا

Nāra l-karīhati aw takhūḍu laẓāhā

By the fire of battle, or wading into its flames.

وَدَنَا الشُّجَاعُ مِنَ الشُّجَاعِ وَأُشْرِعَتْ

And the brave approached the brave, and were readied

سُمْرُ الرِّمَاحِ عَلَى اخْتِلَافِ قَنَاهَا

Dark spears, despite the difference in their shafts.

فَهُنَاكَ أَطْعَنُ فِي الْوَغَى فُرْسَانَهَا

It is there that I stab their horsemen in battle,

طَعْنًا يَشُقُّ قُلُوبَهَا وَكُلَاهَا

A stabbing that splits their hearts and kidneys.

وَسَلِي الْفَوَارِسَ يُخْبِرُوكِ بِهِمَّتِي

Wa-salī l-fawārisa yukhbirūkī bi-himmatī

And ask the horsemen, they will tell you of my resolve,

وَمَوَاقِفِي فِي الْحَرْبِ حِينَ أَطَاهَا

Wa-mawāqifī fī l-ḥarbi ḥīna aṭāhā

And my stances in war when I lead it.

وَأَزِيدُهَا مِنْ نَارِ حَرْبِي شُعْلَةً

And I add to its fire of war a flame,

وَأُثِيرُهَا حَتَّى تَدُورَ رَحَاهَا

Wa-uthīruhā ḥattā tadūra raḥāhā

And I stir it until its millstone turns.

وَأَكُرُّ فِيهِمْ فِي لَهِيبِ شُعَاعِهَا

And I charge into them in the blaze of its radiance,

وَأَكُونُ أَوَّلَ وَاقِدٍ بِصَلَاهَا

Wa-akūnu awwala wāqidin bi-ṣalāhā

And I am the first to ignite its heat.

وَأَكُونُ أَوَّلَ ضَارِبٍ بِمُهَنَّدٍ

Wa-akūnu awwala ḍāribin bi-muhannadin

And I am the first to strike with an Indian sword,

يَفْرِي الْجَمَاجِمَ لَا يُرِيدُ سِوَاهَا

Yafrī l-jamājima lā yurīdu siwāhā

That cleaves skulls, desiring nothing else.

وَأَكُونُ أَوَّلَ فَارِسٍ يَغْشَى الْوَغَى

Wa-akūnu awwala fārisin yaghshā l-waghā

And I am the first horseman to plunge into battle,

فَأَقُودُ أَوَّلَ فَارِسٍ يَغْشَاهَا

Fa-aqūdu awwala fārisin yaghshāhā

So I lead the first horseman who plunges into it.

وَالْخَيْلُ تَعْلَمُ وَالْفَوَارِسُ أَنَّنِي

And the horses know, and the horsemen know, that I am

شَيْخُ الْحُرُوبِ وَكَهْلُهَا وَفَتَاهَا

Shaykhu l-ḥurūbi wa-kahluha wa-fatāhā

The elder of wars, its mature man, and its youth.

يَا عَبْلَ كَمْ مِنْ فَارِسٍ خَلَّيْتُهُ

O Abla, how many a horseman have I left

فِي وَسْطِ رَابِيَةٍ يَعُدُّ حَصَاهَا

In the middle of a hillock, counting its pebbles?

يَا عَبْلَ كَمْ مِنْ حُرَّةٍ خَلَّيْتُهَا

O Abla, how many a free woman have I left

تَبْكِي وَتَنْعَى بَعْلَهَا وَأَخَاهَا

Weeping and mourning her husband and her brother?

يَا عَبْلَ كَمْ مِنْ مُهْرَةٍ غَادَرْتُهَا

O Abla, how many a mare have I abandoned

مِنْ بَعْدِ صَاحِبِهَا تَجُرُّ خُطَاهَا

After its rider, dragging its steps?

يَا عَبْلَ لَوْ أَنِّي لَقِيتُ كَتِيبَةً

O Abla, if I were to meet a battalion

سَبْعِينَ أَلْفًا مَا رَهِبْتُ لِقَاهَا

Of seventy thousand, I would not fear meeting them.

وَأَنَا الْمَنِيَّةُ وَابْنُ كُلِّ مَنِيَّةٍ

Wa-anā l-maniyyatu wa-bnu kulli maniyyatin

And I am Death, and the son of every death,

وَسَوَادُ جِلْدِي ثَوْبُهَا وَرِدَاهَا

Wa-sawādu jildī thawbuhā wa ridāhā

And the blackness of my skin is its garment and cloak.