Six images of the Rub al Khali (Empty Quarter) by Stuart Franklin, 2008. Source: magnumphotos.com
He came early with the news:
the best of Khindif, full-grown
and young combined, is dead.
No one brought their enemies
more fear, nor saved so many
held captive. Their pearl. Excellent
in war, undaunted, always the one
to meet kings: it did them proud
when he spoke. His bloodline
was perfect: you could trace it
back, a column reaching all the way
to the tribe’s origin. As a bright star
spikes the dark, a greater hero
fell upon him, determining
the hour of his death.
The Banu Asad fled
from their masters like birds,
leaving everything behind,
not even stopping in the afternoon
to shelter in the shade of their ascent—
running from the one whose bloodline
was the best, if you were to trace it
through the generations to its source—
Hawazin at their heels, like mice
after the tails of mice.
.
This late sixth-century poem is the pre-Islamic poet’s elegy for her father, killed at war
