الشِّعرُpoetry شَلَّالٌa waterfall علىupon هاجِسيmy inner musing
الشِّعرُ شَلَّالٌ على هاجِسي
سقاwatered فُؤاديmy heart، سَلْسَلًاsweet, flowing water ثَغْرُهُits mouth
سقا فُؤادي، سَلْسَلًا ثَغْرُهُ
Poetry is a waterfall upon my musings.
Poetry is a waterfall on my obsession
Its mouth watered my heart with sweet, flowing water.
Quenching my heart, its mouth a chain
يَعِيبُfinds fault with شِعريَmy poetry بَعْضُsome of نُقَّادِهِits critics
يَعِيبُ شِعريَ بَعْضُ نُقَّادِهِ
يُحْسَدُis envied مِنby زَهْرِthe flowers of الرُّبىthe hills عِطْرُهُits fragrance
يُحْسَدُ مِن زَهْرِ الرُّبى عِطْرُهُ
Some of its critics find fault with my poetry.
Some of its critics find fault in my poetry
Its fragrance is envied by the flowers of the hills.
Its fragrance is envied by the flowers of meadows
يقولُsay أصحابيmy friends أَسِيرُthe captive of الهَوىlove
يقولُ أصحابي أَسِيرُ الهَوى
أَلَذُّthe sweetest ماthat which فيin سِجْنِهِhis prison أَسْرُهُhis captivity
أَلَذُّ ما في سِجْنِهِ أَسْرُهُ
My friends say: the captive of love—
My friends say I am a prisoner of love
the sweetest thing in his prison is his captivity.
The most delightful thing in its prison is its bond
كمhow often ذاقَhe tasted كأسَthe cup of الهَجْرِestrangement؟ لَكِنَّهyet he؛
كم ذاقَ كأسَ الهَجْرِ؟ لَكِنَّه؛
أَوجعَهُhurt him مِنْfrom حِبِّهِhis beloved غَدْرُهُhis betrayal
أَوجعَهُ مِنْ حِبِّهِ غَدْرُهُ
How often has he tasted the cup of estrangement? Yet he
How many tasted the cup of estrangement? But;
was wounded by his beloved's betrayal.
What pained it most was its betrayal
أوزانُthe meters of أشعاريmy poems تراتيلهُhis chants
أوزانُ أشعاري تراتيلهُ
يَصنعُfashions تفعيلاتِهاtheir metrical feet بَحْرُهُhis sea (poetic meter)
يَصنعُ تفعيلاتِها بَحْرُهُ
The meters of my poems are his chants;
The meters of my poems are its melodies
his sea fashions their metrical feet.
Its sea makes its rhythms
يَكتُبُهاhe writes them فيin لَوحِهِhis tablet تارةًat times
يَكتُبُها في لَوحِهِ تارةً
وتارةًand at times يَزهوglories بهاin them صَدْرُهُhis breast
وتارةً يَزهو بها صَدْرُهُ
At times he writes them on his tablet,
It writes them on its tablet sometimes
and at times his breast glories in them.
And sometimes it brags about them in its chest
للنّاسِfor people والعالَمِand the world شَطْرُhalf of الجَوَىheartache
للنّاسِ والعالَمِ شَطْرُ الجَوَى
وليand for me، أناI وحديalone إذًاthen شَطْرُهُhalf of it
ولي، أنا وحدي إذًا شَطْرُهُ
Half the heartache belongs to people and the world,
To people and the world belong half of passion
and half of it, then, is mine alone.
And the other half belongs only to lonely me
لاno صَبْرَpatience، لَكِنْbut أَدَّعِيI claim أَنَّنيthat I
لا صَبْرَ، لَكِنْ أَدَّعِي أَنَّني
أكبَرُthe greatest صَبٍّlovesick lover، ماnot وَهَىhas weakened صَبْرُهُhis patience
أكبَرُ صَبٍّ، ما وَهَى صَبْرُهُ
There is no patience, yet I claim that I am
No patience, but I claim that I
the greatest lovesick lover whose patience has never faltered.
Am the most patient, its patience never wavered
أُكاتِمُI conceal from النّاسَpeople شُجونيmy sorrows، وكمand how many
أُكاتِمُ النّاسَ شُجوني، وكم
سِرٍّa secret فُؤاديmy heart والدُّجَىand the night's darkness قَبْرُهits grave
سِرٍّ فُؤادي والدُّجَى قَبْرُه
I conceal my sorrows from people; and how many
I conceal my sorrows from people, and how much
a secret has my heart and the night's darkness for its grave!
Secrets of my heart with gloom their grave
Sol 6.1