جَوىًlove's anguish تَتَلَظّىblazes نارُهُits fire فيwithin جَوانِحيmy ribs
جَوىً تَتَلَظّى نارُهُ في جَوانِحي
فَكَيفَso how يَنامُhe sleeps اللَيلَat night حَرّانُparched مُنضجُseared
فَكَيفَ يَنامُ اللَيلَ حَرّانُ مُنضجُ
Love's anguish, its fire blazing within my ribs—
The embers of his passion flare in my heart,
A burning passion whose fire blazes within my ribs,
how can one parched and seared sleep through the night?
How can the impassioned one sleep at night when seared?
So how can one sleep at night who is feverish and consumed?
جَفاهُforsook him الكَرىslumber وَالطَيفُand the dream-phantom قَدindeed واصَلَcontinued البُكاweeping
جَفاهُ الكَرى وَالطَيفُ قَد واصَلَ البُكا
فَحَتّىso until مَتىwhen يَبكيhe weeps وَلاand not يَتَفَرَّجُhe finds relief
فَحَتّى مَتى يَبكي وَلا يَتَفَرَّجُ
Sleep and the dream-phantom have forsaken him; he has kept on weeping.
Cruel fate has parted us,
Slumber has shunned him, and the phantom has joined in his weeping,
How long, then, must he weep without relief?
When will he stop weeping, with no respite?
For how long will he weep with no relief in sight?
جَرىran its course القَدرُfate الجاريrunning its course عَلَيهِupon him بِفرقَةٍwith separation
جَرى القَدرُ الجاري عَلَيهِ بِفرقَةٍ
فَلَيسَso there is no لَهَfor him مِنfrom داخِلِthe depths of الهَمِّsorrow مَخرَجُway out
فَلَيسَ لَهَ مِن داخِلِ الهَمِّ مَخرَجُ
Fate, running its course, has decreed separation for him;
Destiny decreed our separation,
The decree of fate has run its course upon him with separation,
so he has no escape from the depths of sorrow.
Leaving no escape from inner turmoil.
Leaving him no exit from the confines of his sorrow.
جَليدsteadfast عَلىin الكِتمانِconcealment لَوif لَمnot تَبُحreveal بِهِabout him
جَليد عَلى الكِتمانِ لَو لَم تَبُح بِهِ
دُموعٌtears عَلىupon خَدَّيهِhis cheeks بِالدَمِwith blood تُمزَجُare mingled
دُموعٌ عَلى خَدَّيهِ بِالدَمِ تُمزَجُ
He would be steadfast in concealment, were he not betrayed by
He conceals it like frozen ice,
He remains steadfast in concealment, were he not betrayed
tears upon his cheeks, mingled with blood.
Were it not for tears mixed with blood on his cheeks.
By tears upon his cheeks that are mingled with blood.
جَعَلتُI began أَمحيI erase ماwhat كَتَبتُI wrote بِعَبرَتيwith my tears
جَعَلتُ أَمحي ما كَتَبتُ بِعَبرَتي
وَكِدتُand I almost لِسقميbecause of my illness فيin كِتابيmy letter أدرجُI am enclosed
وَكِدتُ لِسقمي في كِتابي أدرجُ
I began erasing with my tears what I had written,
I erased what I wrote in tears,
I began to erase with my tears what I had written,
and from sickness I was almost folded into my letter
And nearly included my sickness in my book.
And I nearly, from my frailty, was folded into my letter.
جَواباًas a reply لَعَلَّin the hope that الكُتبthe letters يُطفئُextinguishes لاعِجاًa searing flame
جَواباً لَعَلَّ الكُتب يُطفئُ لاعِجاً
عَلىupon كَبدٍa liver مِنfrom ذِكرِكُمremembrance of you تَتَوَهَّجُblazes
عَلى كَبدٍ مِن ذِكرِكُم تَتَوَهَّجُ
as a reply, hoping correspondence might quench a searing flame
Perhaps books will quell intense yearning,
A reply—perhaps the writing might extinguish the burning pain
upon a liver ablaze with remembrance of you.
For a heart aflame with thoughts of you.
Upon a heart that glows like embers from the memory of you.
جَزىmay reward اللَهُGod منwhoever أَدّىdelivered رِسالَةa message عاشِقٍof a lover
جَزى اللَهُ من أَدّى رِسالَة عاشِقٍ
وَحَسَّنَand made fair أعذاراًexcuses مِنَfrom البَينِseparation تَسمُجُgrow ugly
وَحَسَّنَ أعذاراً مِنَ البَينِ تَسمُجُ
May God reward whoever delivers a lover's message
May God reward one who delivers a lover's message
May God reward the one who delivers a lover's message,
and makes fair the excuses that separation makes ugly,
And gracefully conveys excuses for separation.
And beautifies excuses that separation has made unsightly.
جَميلاًwith goodness فَماfor ... not فِعلُdoing الجَميلِgood بَضائِعwasted at all
جَميلاً فَما فِعلُ الجَميلِ بَضائِع
وَلاand not سيماthe like فيfor الصَبِّthe lovelorn lover وَالصَبّand the lovelorn lover أَحوَجُmore in need
وَلا سيما في الصَبِّ وَالصَبّ أَحوَجُ
with goodness—for no good deed is wasted,
Beauty is good, but what can it do?
With goodness, for a good deed is never a wasted ware,
especially for the lovelorn, whose need is greater.
Especially for the young - it barely suffices.
Especially for the lovesick, who is in the direst need.
جَنَيتُI inflicted عَلىupon نَفسيmy soul الهَوىpassion فَقَتَلتُهاand so I killed it
جَنَيتُ عَلى نَفسي الهَوى فَقَتَلتُها
وَحُبّيand my love بَريءٌinnocent مِنof دميmy blood مُتَحَرِّجُavoiding guilt
وَحُبّي بَريءٌ مِن دمي مُتَحَرِّجُ
I inflicted passion on my own soul, and so killed it;
I killed myself with love,
I brought love upon my own soul and thus destroyed it,
and my love is innocent of my blood, shrinking from guilt.
My love is innocent of shedding my blood.
While my beloved remains innocent of my blood, free of guilt.
جَلاءthe dispelling of هُموميmy cares طَيفكُمyour dream-phantom يوضحُilluminates الدُّجىthe darkness
جَلاء هُمومي طَيفكُم يوضحُ الدُّجى
وَإِلّاand if not فَأنفاسُthen the breaths الصباthe east wind تَتَأَرَّجُwaft fragrance
وَإِلّا فَأنفاسُ الصبا تَتَأَرَّجُ
Your dream-phantom dispels my cares and lights the darkness;
Your image dispels my gloom,
The cure for my worries is your phantom illuminating the dark,
and if not, the breaths of the east wind waft their fragrance.
Else the morning breeze would stir restlessly.
Or else the breaths of the eastern breeze, wafting sweet perfume.
Sol 6.1