بِأَبيwith my father as ransom اليَومَtoday وَنَفسِيand my own life بَلَسٌfigs (collective)
بِأَبي اليَومَ وَنَفسِي بَلَسٌ
كَثُدِيِّlike the breasts of الزَّنجِthe Zanj دَرّتflowed عَسَلاhoney
كَثُدِيِّ الزَّنجِ دَرّت عَسَلا
Today I would ransom the fig with my father and my life—
By my father today, and myself in bliss,
Like the breasts of the Zanj, dripping honey.
Like the honeycomb of a black Zanji dripping honey,
عَبثَتplayed فِيin بُردِهِits mantle كَفُّthe hand الصبِّاthe east wind
عَبثَت فِي بُردِهِ كَفُّ الصبِّا
فَتَرَدّىso it wrapped itself مِنfrom جَديدٍnew; anew سَبَلاَtrailing robes
فَتَرَدّى مِن جَديدٍ سَبَلاَ
The east wind's hand played with its mantle,
The hand of passion toyed in its coldness,
So it wrapped itself anew in trailing robes.
And so it shed freshly dripping streams.
سَهرَstayed awake اللّيلَةthe night يَرعَىkeeping watch over نَجمهَاits star
سَهرَ اللّيلَة يَرعَى نَجمهَا
ثُمَّthen أَغفىَdozed off فِيin الصَّبَاحِthe morning كَسَلاَlanguidly
ثُمَّ أَغفىَ فِي الصَّبَاحِ كَسَلاَ
It kept vigil through the night, watching its star,
She stayed up last night, tending her star,
Then dozed in the morning, languidly.
Then slept in the morning, curled up.
لَيتَwould that شِعريmy knowing مَنwho سَقاهُgave it a drink خَمرَةًwine
لَيتَ شِعري مَن سَقاهُ خَمرَةً
شَفقَthe rosy glow of الصبُّحthe dawn فَأَضحَىso it became ثَمِلاَdrunk
شَفقَ الصبُّح فَأَضحَى ثَمِلاَ
Would that I knew who gave it wine to drink—
I wish I knew who gave her the wine
The glow of dawn—so it became drunk.
That tinged the dawn and left her drunk.
مَائِلَdrooping الجِيدِthe neck عَلَتهُovercame it نَعسَةٌdrowsiness
مَائِلَ الجِيدِ عَلَتهُ نَعسَةٌ
سَائِلَflowing الرِّيقَةِsaliva مَهمَاwhenever غَفَلاَit dozed
سَائِلَ الرِّيقَةِ مَهمَا غَفَلاَ
Its neck drooping, drowsiness overcame it,
Drowsiness weighs down her bending neck,
Its saliva flowing whenever it dozed.
And she smiles, heedless, if she nods off.
كُلّevery يَومٍday لِيI have عَلَيهِupon it غارَةقa raid (reading غارة)
كُلّ يَومٍ لِي عَلَيهِ غارَةق
غَرَّةthe beginning of الصبُّحِthe morning وَأُخرَىand another أُصُلاَin the late afternoon
غَرَّة الصبُّحِ وَأُخرَى أُصُلاَ
Every day I make a raid upon it,
Each day I raid her, each dawn and night,
At daybreak, and another in the late afternoon.
But with both I cannot slake my thirst.
لَستُI am not أَروَىquenched مِنfrom أُوَامِيmy burning thirst بِهِمَاby the two of them
لَستُ أَروَى مِن أُوَامِي بِهِمَا
إِنّماonly الرّيّthirst-quenching شَرَابرdrinking (reading شراب) عَلَلاin successive draughts
إِنّما الرّيّ شَرَابر عَلَلا
Those two do not quench my burning thirst;
For lust is a draught that leaves one diseased,
True quenching comes only with draught upon draught.
Not sated, however much one drinks.
Sol 6.1