Fifty Bad Translations
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قِفَا نَبْكِ مِنْ ذِكْرَى حَبِيبٍ ومَنْزِلِ / بِسِقْطِ اللِّوَى بَيْنَ الدَّخُول فَحَوْمَلِ فَتُوْضِحَ فَالمِقْراةِ لمْ يَعْفُ رَسْمُها / لِمَا نَسَجَتْهَا مِنْ جَنُوبٍ وشَمْألِ تَرَى بَعَرَ الأرْآمِ فِي عَرَصَاتِهَ / وَقِيْعَانِهَا كَأنَّهُ حَبُّ فُلْفُل كَأنِّي غَدَاةَ البَيْنِ يَوْمَ تَحَمَّاو / لَدَى سَمُرَاتِ الحَيِّ نَاقِفُ حَنْظَلِ وُقُوْفًا بِهَا صَحْبِي عَليَّ مَطِيَّهُ / يَقُوْلُوْنَ: لا تَهْلِكْ أَسَىً وَتَجَمَّلِ وإِنَّ شِفائِيَ عَبْرَةٌ مُهْرَاقَةٌ / فَهَلْ عِنْدَ رَسْمٍ دَارِسٍ مِنْ مُعَوَّلِ
Stop, let us weep at the memory of a beloved and a home / In the valley of al-Lawa between Ad-Dakhul and Hawmal It is clear that the print of the Qur’an has not been erased / Because of what it has woven from the south and the north. You see the dung of the camel in its fields and its lowlands, as if it were peppercorns. As if I were, on the morning of separation, on the day of the heat, standing at the evening gatherings of the neighborhood, a colocynth. My companions stopped me on their mounts, saying: Do not perish in sorrow, and be patient. My healing is a shed tear / Is there any recourse in a faded drawing?