عُتّابَةُ النَفسِ كاعِبٌ شَكِلَه

عُتّابَةُ النَفسِ كاعِبٌ شَكِلَه

كَحلاءُ بِالحُسنِ غَيرُ مُكتَحِلَه

كَحلاءُ بِالحُسنِ غَيرُ مُكتَحِلَه

ʿUttāba, dear to the soul, is a coquettish young maiden,

Complaining soul is like a clown

Her eyes dark with beauty, though she wears no kohl.

Whose beauty is bare without kohl

بِاللَهِ هَل تَذكُرينَ يا سَكَني

بِاللَهِ هَل تَذكُرينَ يا سَكَني

وَأَنتِ لا تَقصُرينَ في الحَجَلَه

وَأَنتِ لا تَقصُرينَ في الحَجَلَه

By God, do you remember, O my solace,

By God, do you remember, my home

While you are not wanting in the bridal bower,

When you did not fall short in playfulness

أَيّامَ كُنّا وَنَحنُ في صِغَرٍ

أَيّامَ كُنّا وَنَحنُ في صِغَرٍ

نَلعَبُ هالا مُهَلهِلاً هَلَلَه

نَلعَبُ هالا مُهَلهِلاً هَلَلَه

The days when we were children,

Days when we were young

Playing ‘hālā, muhalhilan, halalah’?

Playing halah halila halala