1. Gradually, it is a feast
And God does exist

2. And I, as they said
Am the brother of Nishwat the Arabic

3. Is there no sugar in the holidays
A tradition of traditions

4. My stinginess, O Suleima
To his faults, generosity

5. Are not people whimsical
And the origin of the cup, a cluster

6. And I, in innocent love
Hunted and hunted

7. A brother of love and melodies
His sorrows, chirping

8. My life, as Antabuk said
Exhaustion and homelessness

9. And after prison, exile
And torture and deportation

10. Left you, O Wasfi
And sang to you the professionals

11. Do they not know that I
Am the brother of Nishwat the Arabic

12. And that the meager share
With it, Obed judges you

13. Of the servants who prevailed
And those who prevailed over them, they painted