1. For God, my days pass with joy,
As the meadow gleams in its garden,

2. And the Nile fills the bay, already
Dressed by spring’s flower in silk brocade,

3. And the morning breeze ripples its water, telling of
A garment of embroidered blue satin,

4. Winding through the gardens, it is as though
It opened above the thickets a pass.

5. And the redness of the sun on the pond, after
The morning breeze passed by it, diffusing fragrance,

6. As if it were a silver breast whose rim
Was shortened while it glowed, melted down,

7. Like a coin placed on silk gauze
So fine the engraver embellished it perfectly,

8. As if it and the plants enclosing it
Were an eye with dark eyelids staring intensely,

9. Like the moon in the blueness of the sky, surrounded
By stars in the east,

10. It delighted me and inspired me and told
My heart in its undulation how it pounds.

11. The clouds weep and the lightning laughs but the
Thunder shouts angrily, choked up,

12. And the lightning is a garment whose redness
Shows through when ripped,

13. And the thunder its rumbling when torn.
As if the rainbow were a border

14. Of interwoven brocade after folding up,
Or like the borders of headbands appearing

15. In the brow of one infatuated with passion’s colors,
Circles dyed and interleaved

16. So each color adjoins its opposite,
Fillets around the neck of a singing girl

17. Whose varied hues were threaded by the one who strung her necklace.
And the leaves amid the foliage murmuring

18. As if each little leaf were whispering to another green one.
Would that I knew if it sang or lamented,

19. But singing suits its condition best.
If it claimed it wept, it would lie,

20. For the witness of the condition is truthful and logical.
Where is the sob of one who weeps and her choking?

21. She grazes in sumptuous raiment
And the perfume in the meadow is her scent wafting.

22. The necklace around her neck, henna has not yet
Dyed its edges down to the wrist.

23. And around her are those she loves in a homeland
Whose wings roam freely in its meadows.

24. Unlike my state in an exile which, for the parting of friends,
Was created, so it is no wonder if with it there is only croaking,

25. Since it has been sheltering the disasters that crept up
And delved into the deepest sea or took flight.

26. Nations of its armies come upon me
When one squadron passes, another one comes.

27. I have been separated from them until I grew accustomed and no longer distinguished them,
As their onslaught persisted I failed to differentiate.

28. My exile is the exile of the bell that was created for discord,
So it is no surprise that with it there is only bleating.

29. It has encompassed my kin since I was united
While he is captive in its fetters, shackled.

30. Would that when it enclosed him if
My youth had weakened, it had let him go.

31. But it transported him as a lesson
That without him my breast is constricted.

32. It left me with white hair, so I have not
Grown gray since it began to alight.

33. Thus the garment of my life has become for it a patchwork cloak
While it is new and does not suit him.

34. It accompanied me though it does not separate from me
Until decrepitude, yet with it I am more at peace.

35. I do not covet people life nor does
A coveter pity nor show compassion.

36. It makes us taste its insignificant sweetness while we
Suffer so much for it and yearn.

37. Would that Adam had not believed Satan
In his talk nor verified it.

38. And refrained from eating what seduced him,
Exercising self-restraint, so he never tasted it.

39. Or settled in immortality, then provided us
Sustenance, or made the world barren, so no one was given sustenance.

40. Or would that my conception had never occurred in the beginning
Or would that she had not given birth or conceived me!

41. But we were cast into it toward ordeals
That beset us with worries or suffocate us,

42. Its wicked nature, and the sensible one in it
Is in the worst state, more than the fool.

43. Shelter of afflictions ever since
The back turns away to where its burial place crumbles.

44. Whoever it releases from its womb and dies
A miscarriage is fortunate and fortunate.

45. It busied itself with creating him just as it busied itself
Futilely, with no expected benefit or refuge.

46. It laments if he dies just as it lamented
While it was in labor with him writhing.

47. And if he lives, it is struggling
Stabbed by misfortunes or shot with arrows.

48. So life is the essence of demise, and none
Thrives who did not live and was not created.

49. It screamed as if it wept when
Its youth faded and it grew decrepit and senile.

50. It accompanied me though it does not separate from me
Until decrepitude, yet with it I am more at peace.

51. I do not covet people life nor does
A coveter pity nor show compassion.

52. It makes us taste its paltry sweetness while
We suffer so much for it and yearn for more.