This poem was composed when King Saud—may God have mercy on him—became displeased with the poet al‑Bahr after he struck one of the writers. The King ordered that al‑Bahr’s name be removed from the list of al‑ikhwiyā accompanying him to Bahrain. Two days after the King’s departure, one of the King’s men passed by the poet while traveling from the village of Qurayyah toward the Eastern Province. He told him that the King had rested there before continuing to Dhahran, where Prince Faisal bin Turki was appointed over the ikhwiyā.
The messenger returned to Riyadh, and al‑Bahr handed him this poem, asking him to deliver it to Saleh al‑Azouz, who would present it to the King. When King Saud read it in the presence of Sheikh Isa, ruler of Bahrain, Sheikh Isa said: “We want to hear it in al‑Bahr’s own voice, Your Highness.”
A telegram was sent immediately summoning him, and the King forgave him.
It was the only time he did not accompany the King since he was sixteen years old.
May God have mercy on them all.
Poem Translation
The mill of thoughts turned from the weight of worries,
and my mind wandered wherever it wished to go.
I looked into them, then sat bewildered,
fearing the bitterness that nights may bring.
At times life brightens, at times it draws you to danger,
casting you into depths you never sought.
Blessed is he whose world does not betray him,
for treacherous lands have caused every soul to complain.
Swift to welcome, swift to abandon,
none but the Almighty can tame its ways.
I have seen others suffer from its bitterness,
no one escapes its blows except by God’s mercy.
One does not complain of brokenness except to the Almighty,
and my complaint is to the One who knows my suffering.
Other than that, I confide only in a trusted friend,
one who, when he approaches, lifts the weight from my heart.
He fulfills what must be done when matters grow difficult,
and when a need appears, he is the one who resolves it.
O messenger, rise and mount the camel swiftly,
write my grievance and deliver it to its end.
When you finish, bring the finest lines,
verses that delight whoever reads them.
They stir the hearts of those who love poetry,
the wise who grasp their meaning.
Words weighed against the long and the short,
crafted with thought and clarity.
Take them, and may you be protected from all evil,
and may God guard you on your journey.
Ride on, overcoming hardship and fate,
from the land whose Sultan is the protector of Najd.
The land of Al‑Saud—kings of noble stature,
who defended their country from its enemies.
With sharpened swords that sever necks,
they are its rain, its refuge, its shield.
From Riyadh at dawn, guide your mount onward,
and when you reach Qurayyah, heed its signs.
Let the camel roam the desert freely,
and when you reach the village, ask for news of the sheikh.
Then continue, O guide of the lost,
toward a land resting on the edge of the sea.
Dhahran will appear before you,
its marks and lights shining in the distance.
You will see before you great encampments,
the land belongs to God, then to the one who built it.
You will reach Saud—the solver of hardships,
whose cloak blinds the eyes of his enemies.
Abu Fahd, leader who gives life for honor,
chief of the brave, quencher of spears.
He waters the blades of warriors with courage,
and when the battle grows fierce, Saud stands firm.
When he advances, horses scatter,
and enemies fall beneath sharpened steel.
If he speaks, he confounds every deceiver,
forcing his enemies to bow in spite.
He shields hearts—some pure, some burdened,
and may God increase the torment of the unjust.
In his majlis you find servants and free men,
all seeking honor in his presence.
Approach him and say: this is a token of remembrance,
from a right hand that never withholds its gifts.
My greetings to him equal the number of visitors
to the grave of the one God named “the Pure.”
As many as the rustling leaves of trees,
and as many as the birds that come to water.
I present my complaint to you, O protector of the land,
from a tightness in my chest that drove me to speak.
Worries pushed me, and when eyes turned away,
sleep abandoned my eyes.
I hope in you as the barren hopes for rain,
and I seek from you the affection I seek from no one else.
As the poet said:
“Honor is the longing of every noble soul.”
May God have mercy on the poet Mughthi ibn Sabah al‑Jallaudi al‑Dahmashi,
and may God have mercy on King Saud.