1. Do you remember when you were one of the gazelles
Of Wadi Ash-Shita, and life was in its prime,

2. With a heart adorned on all sides with the intoxication of youth
A doe who had killed with her steadfastness her companion,

3. So love grew here and love grew there while a third
Stood over you while you were one of its notables,

4. O Mayya! What is with my heart whose state and pocket
Are silent like the silence of the dead in their shrouds,

5. And why are my dreams saddened by their imagination’s departure
And my sullenness grows more severe in its intention,

6. And why are my hopes frightened by sorrow
While despair pulls them into its embrace,

7. And why is my devil, when I seek inspiration from him
Poetry that increases dignity in its ears,

8. Bring your forehead closer to the blessings of its dignity
Sweetly, youth sipped from its deprivation,

9. Perhaps my ancient inspiration will return to me
And it will cover me in my loneliness with its affection,

10. O Mayya! It is not my fault if youth escaped
And left, and I did not reap the prime of its time,

11. The blackness of your hair set a limit on its excesses
And grayness walked to me before its time,

12. O Mayya! It is not my fault if my fate rebelled
And the blackness of my fortune raged in its rebellion,

13. For man attains what he wants of wishes
Through striving and support from his brethren,

14. And I am the one who denied the merit of loved ones
And helped my friends with their betrayal,

15. Bring your forehead closer, for my happiness continues
If it comes near my lips controlled by its teeth,

16. And rest your breast on my chest, and it will suffice me as a blessing,
This feeling you inspire from its throbbing,

17. I have nothing to do with their world, for your love is a universe,
The highest secret, and harm will not reach its essence,

18. O Mayya! Mount Gilad is still as it was
Remaining appeased, crouching in its place,

19. The caves of Wadi Sir have not ceased its vegetation
And its flowers bend over its branches,

20. The sky of Irbid, its clouds still
Water the plains of the fortress in its fury,

21. O Mayya! My homeland’s doves have not stopped
Cheeping and clapping on its branches,

22. So tend to my heart with your love and listen
To whatever you wish of my singing and its melodies,

23. The hut of regrets, its shadow has shrunk
And its porch is firmer than its columns,

24. The time of its master has passed to its final days
Tattered, holding the reins of its rein,

25. Its seduction is an accursed slumber that distracted it from its folk
And replaced their safety with fears,

26. And he who improved the condition of the spouse spoiled her wedding
And we have an evening where he tied the knot of marriage,

27. So I wish I had been able to protect
The hut before the contract, tying its tongue,

28. And pity the hut, how it frowned
Vexed, the sounds of joy in its title,

29. It calls the cups in its hands, so echo responds
Reverberating off its walls,

30. The tambourine asks about the revelers of its harem
And the duff asks about the fate of its performers,

31. And pity the hut, its nadir
Has collected the remnants of its structure compassionately,

32. The lute bent like an orphan with its head
And cried for it, so it cried over the loss of its prestige,

33. This is the violin, so where is its performer
Who cries over the hut’s ruins with the sorrow of his violin,

34. And pity the hut, how gloom overcame it
After the radiance of the faces of its time,

35. To the point that even I, faithful to its covenant,
Have ceased to frequent the tavern I once loved,

36. So it is as if I were a slave to its devotion
Or Hamza al-Arabee in his faith,

37. And I fear if the roots of my austerity grow
The palace will call me for my senility,

38. Wondrous are my loves from the remnants of a turban
Dark like the full moon in its time,

39. And Noel, the beads of its rosary
Submerged to the ears in its glorification,

40. And the words of our master Atta
In asceticism that intoxicate me with the magic of his rhetoric,

41. And the poem of Asma’, whose verses
I saw the secret of truth in its forgiveness,

42. And I saw that God is more merciful
Than what some of His servants suspect,

43. And I witnessed how forgiveness spreads its veil
Even over Pharaoh in his disobedience,

44. Do not rush, O people, if my Sufism
Still needs evidence for its argument,

45. O Mayya! Spring has returned and my soul has returned
To the devils of autumn and its shields,

46. And visions of wine that I thought made me
Chosroes Anushirwan in his hall,

47. Around me are my boon companions who adorn my feast
Like the crowned king among those of authority,

48. Until when my soul staggers from the intoxication
Of your drunken glance in its eyelids,

49. And my head fills with your beauty’s intoxication
That the wine begrudged it to its drunkard,

50. I broke my cup and sought refuge in repentance
That set my nape aflame striking the devil,

51. And I turned away from drinking wine and giving it
And my lips became pure of its vessels,

52. O Mayya! I have become a locust in our field
And its butterfly strutting in its flight,

53. To God belong the wings of the weak, for they
Elevate him, and he stays below its range,

54. So bring your lips closer to my mouth, and cradle
My chest, and time will cease its harm,

55. Woe to the lambs of imagination, for they
Are sacrifices offered to their valley,

56. Bring your forehead closer, for the dawn has smiled
At the grim faced one in its glitter,

57. And the ravines of Wadi Sir, their smooth surface flowed
For lightning when it exposed its teeth,

58. Bring your forehead closer, for life’s steed
Is fierce, and none of its horsemen are more deadly,

59. He who was not a wolf, his time
Tempts him with tens of wolves,

60. Woe to the wings of imagination, for they
Kill their bird with the feathers of its hatred,

61. This Wadi Ash-Shita, and those were my playgrounds
When I was, and I was one of its neighbors,

62. So bring your lips closer to my mouth, if your heart, O Mayya, has not
Become protected from its storm,

63. And rest your breast on my chest, and it will suffice you as a blessing,
This feeling you inspire from its throbbing,

64. I have nothing to do with their world, for your love is a universe,
The secret of passion has settled on its inhabitants.