بَرَزَت مِنَ المَنازِلِ القِباب

فَلَم يَعسِر عَلى أَحَدٍ حِجابي

I have emerged from the domes of sheltered dwellings,

So my seclusion is now hindered to no one.

فَمَنزِلي الفَضاءُ وَسَقفُ بَيتي

سَماءُ اللَهِ أَو قطعِ السَحابِ

My home is the open void, and the roof above

Is the sky of God, or the drifting clouds.

فَأَنتَ إِذا أَرَدتَ دَخَلتَ بَيتي

عَلَيَّ مُسلِماً مِن غَيرِ بابِ

So whenever you wish, you may enter my house,

Offering greetings, obstructed by no door.

لِأَنّي لَم أَجِد مصارعَ بابٍ

يَكونُ مِنَ السَحابِ إِلى التُرابِ

For I could find no shutters for a gateway

That could span from the high clouds down to the dust.

وَلا خِفتُ الإِباقَ عَلى عَبيدي

وَلا خِفتُ الهَلاكَ عَلى دَوابي

I fear not the escape of any bondsmen,

Nor do I dread the demise of my beasts.

وَلا حاسَبتُ يَوماً قَهرَماني

مُحاسَبَةً فَأَغلَظَ في الحِسابِ

I have never called a steward to account,

With a reckoning that grows harsh in the sum.

وَفي ذا راحَةٍ وَفَراغِ بالٍ

فَدَأَب الدَهر ذا أَبَداً وَدابي

In this lies comfort and a mind at peace,

Such is the habit of Fate, and my habit too.

وابِطُكَ قابِضِ الأَرواحِ يَرمي

بِسَهمِ المَوتِ مِن تَحتِ الثِيابِ

But your embrace holds the Soul-Taker, who casts

The arrow of death from beneath his robes.

شَرابُكَ في السَرابِ إِذا عَطِشنا

وَخُبزُكَ عِندَ مُنقَطِعِ التُرابِ

Your drink is but a mirage when we thirst,

And your bread lies at the ends of the earth.

رأيتُ الخُبز عَزَّ لِدَيكَ حَتّى

حَسِبتَ الخُبزَ في جَوِّ السَحابِ

I saw that bread was so precious to you,

You deemed it belonged in the vault of the clouds.

وَما رَوحَتَنا لِتَذُب عَنّا

وَلَكِن خِفتُ مُرزِئَةَ الذُبابِ

You did not fan us to defend our rest,

But only for fear of the flies' assault.