وَدَّwished شِعْرِيmy poetry لَوْif only صَارَbecame سَيْفًاa sword يُحَامِيdefends
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ سَيْفًا يُحَامِي
عَنْfor حِمَىthe sanctuary of قَوْمِيmy people عَنْfor حِمَىthe sanctuary of الإِيمَانِfaith
عَنْ حِمَى قَوْمِي عَنْ حِمَى الإِيمَانِ
My poetry wished to become a sword defending
My poetry, I wish it were a sword defending
the sanctuary of my people, the sanctuary of faith.
My people, defending the sanctuary of faith
وَدَّwished شِعْرِيmy poetry لَوْif only صَارَbecame مِنْهُfrom it بُحُورٌseas
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ مِنْهُ بُحُورٌ
حِمَمًاlava أَوْor لَظًىblazing fire عَلَىagainst الطُّغْيَانِtyranny
حِمَمًا أَوْ لَظًى عَلَى الطُّغْيَانِ
My poetry wished that its seas would become
My poetry, I wish it were seas
lava or blazing fire against tyranny.
Raging, or flames, against tyranny
وَدَّwished شِعْرِيmy poetry لَوْif only صَارَbecame شَاطِئَthe shore of بَحْرٍa sea
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ شَاطِئَ بَحْرٍ
لِسَفِينِfor the ships of الْمُفَكِّرِthe thinker الْحَيْرَانِbewildered
لِسَفِينِ الْمُفَكِّرِ الْحَيْرَانِ
My poetry wished to become a seashore
My poetry, I wish it were a shore for the ship
for the ships of the bewildered thinker.
Of the confused thinker wandering
وَدَّwished شِعْرِيmy poetry لَوْif only صَارَbecame بَيْتُهُits verse مَاوًىa refuge
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ بَيْتُهُ مَاوًى
لأَبِيٍّfor an unbowed man مِنْfrom ذِلَّةِthe humiliation of الْحِرْمَانِdeprivation
لأَبِيٍّ مِنْ ذِلَّةِ الْحِرْمَانِ
My poetry wished its verse would become a refuge
My poetry, I wish its abode sheltered
for an unbowed man, from the humiliation of deprivation.
An outcast from the woe of deprivation
ذَاكَthat شِعْرِيmy poetry وَنَبْعُهُand its wellspring مِنْfrom جَنَانِيmy heart
ذَاكَ شِعْرِي وَنَبْعُهُ مِنْ جَنَانِي
ذَاكَthat شِعْرِيmy poetry يَفُوحُwafts fragrantly مِنْهُfrom it بَيَانِيmy eloquence
ذَاكَ شِعْرِي يَفُوحُ مِنْهُ بَيَانِي
That is my poetry, and its wellspring is from my heart.
Thus is my poetry, flowing from my soul
That is my poetry; my eloquence wafts from it.
Thus is my poetry, redolent of my expression
شِعْرُthe poetry of حُرٍّa free man أَبَىrefused الْخُنُوعَsubmission وَيَرْجُوand hopes
شِعْرُ حُرٍّ أَبَى الْخُنُوعَ وَيَرْجُو
أَنْto يَرَىsee رَبَّهُhis Lord بِأَعْلَىin the highest of الْجِنَانِthe gardens of Paradise
أَنْ يَرَى رَبَّهُ بِأَعْلَى الْجِنَانِ
The poetry of a free man who refused submission and hopes
Poetry of a freeman who refused submission
to see his Lord in the highest gardens of Paradise.
Hoping to meet his Lord in the highest Heaven
وَزْنُthe meter of شِعْرِيmy poetry نَغْمُthe music of السِّيَاطِthe whips حَزِينًاmournfully
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي نَغْمُ السِّيَاطِ حَزِينًا
تُلْهِبُsear الظَّهْرَthe back مِنْof أَبِيٍّan unbowed man مُهَانِhumiliated
تُلْهِبُ الظَّهْرَ مِنْ أَبِيٍّ مُهَانِ
My poetry's meter is the mournful music of whips
My poetry's rhythm, the moan of whips woeful
that sear the back of a humiliated, unbowed man.
Inflaming the back of the disgraced suppliant
وَزْنُthe meter of شِعْرِيmy poetry سُكُونُthe stillness of لَيْلٍa night رَهِيبٍdreadful
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي سُكُونُ لَيْلٍ رَهِيبٍ
فِيin سُجُونٍprisons تَنُوءُare weighed down بِالْحَيَوَانِwith animals
فِي سُجُونٍ تَنُوءُ بِالْحَيَوَانِ
My poetry's meter is the stillness of a dreadful night
My poetry's rhythm, the still of a fearful night
in prisons weighed down with animals.
In prisons overflowing with beasts
وَزْنُthe meter of شِعْرِيmy poetry آهَاتُthe moans of حُرٍّa free man صَرِيعٍstruck down
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي آهَاتُ حُرٍّ صَرِيعٍ
وَصُرَاخُand the cries of الْجِرَاحِthe wounds وَالسَّجَّانِand the jailer
وَصُرَاخُ الْجِرَاحِ وَالسَّجَّانِ
My poetry's meter is the moans of a fallen free man
My poetry's rhythm, sighs of a captive wounded
and the cries of wounds and of the jailer.
Screams of gashes, and the jailer
وَزْنُthe meter of شِعْرِيmy poetry صَوْتُthe voice of الإِبَاءِdefiance يُنَادِيcalls out
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي صَوْتُ الإِبَاءِ يُنَادِي
لاnot أُبَالِيI care بِالْقَتْلِabout being killed أَوْor بِالْهَوَانِabout humiliation
لا أُبَالِي بِالْقَتْلِ أَوْ بِالْهَوَانِ
My poetry's meter is the voice of defiance calling:
My poetry's rhythm, the call of the defiant
"I care nothing for being killed or humiliated."
I care not for death or disgrace
صَارَbecame شِعْرِيmy poetry رُوحًاa spirit تُقَارِنُaccompanies رُوحِيmy spirit
صَارَ شِعْرِي رُوحًا تُقَارِنُ رُوحِي
صَارَbecame نَفْسِيmy soul وَفِكْرَتِيand my thought وَكِيَانِيand my being
صَارَ نَفْسِي وَفِكْرَتِي وَكِيَانِي
My poetry became a spirit accompanying my spirit;
My poetry has become one with my spirit
it became my soul, my thought, and my being.
Become my very being, mind, and existence
قَدْindeed جَعَلْتُI made الْقَرِيضَpoetry بَدْرَthe full moon of اللَّيَالِيthe nights
قَدْ جَعَلْتُ الْقَرِيضَ بَدْرَ اللَّيَالِي
نُورُهُits light يَاتِيcomes مِنْfrom صَدَىthe echo of وِجْدَانِيmy feelings
نُورُهُ يَاتِي مِنْ صَدَى وِجْدَانِي
I have made poetry the full moon of the nights;
The full moons are lamps whose glow comes
its light comes from the echo of my feelings.
From echoes of my soul's stirrings
وَجَعَلْتُand I made الْبُحُورَthe seas مَسْبَحَa swimming place for فِكْرِيmy thought
وَجَعَلْتُ الْبُحُورَ مَسْبَحَ فِكْرِي
فَأَغُوصُso I dive انْتِقَاءَto select خَيْرِthe finest of الْجُمَانِthe pearls
فَأَغُوصُ انْتِقَاءَ خَيْرِ الْجُمَانِ
And I made the seas a swimming place for my thought,
I make the seas a vessel for my thoughts
so I dive to choose the finest pearls.
That I may glean the finest of meanings
إِنَّindeed فَخْرِيmy pride أَنْthat صَارَbecame شِعْرِيَmy poetry سِحْرًاmagic
إِنَّ فَخْرِي أَنْ صَارَ شِعْرِيَ سِحْرًا
يَبْعَثُrevives الشَّعْبَthe people مِنْfrom رَدَىdeath الطُّغْيَانِtyranny
يَبْعَثُ الشَّعْبَ مِنْ رَدَى الطُّغْيَانِ
My pride is that my poetry has become magic
My pride is that my poetry has become magic
that raises the people from the death tyranny brings.
Rousing the people from tyranny's decay
وَالأُبَاةُand the unbowed الأَحْرَارُthe free قَدْindeed أَشْهَرُوهُthey brandished it
وَالأُبَاةُ الأَحْرَارُ قَدْ أَشْهَرُوهُ
فِيin وُجُوهِthe faces of الطُّغَاةِthe tyrants مِثْلَlike السِّنَانِthe spearhead
فِي وُجُوهِ الطُّغَاةِ مِثْلَ السِّنَانِ
And the unbowed free men have brandished it
The defiant and free have unsheathed it
in the faces of tyrants like a spearhead.
In the faces of tyrants, like daggers
وَعُتَاةُand the fiercest of الطُّغَاةِthe tyrants قَدْindeed عَلِمُوهُthey knew it
وَعُتَاةُ الطُّغَاةِ قَدْ عَلِمُوهُ
كَوَقُودِas fuel for الأَحْرَارِthe free بَلْrather نِيرَانِflames
كَوَقُودِ الأَحْرَارِ بَلْ نِيرَانِ
And the fiercest tyrants have known it
The unjust know it as the rebels' fuel
as fuel for the free—rather, as flames.
Nay, as consuming fires
Sol 6.1