قَدindeed بَلَغتَyou have reached السِتينَsixty وَيحَكَalas for you فَاِعلَمso know
قَد بَلَغتَ السِتينَ وَيحَكَ فَاِعلَم
أَنَّthat ماwhat بَعدَهاafter it عَلَيكَfor you تَلَوَّمa reprieve
أَنَّ ما بَعدَها عَلَيكَ تَلَوَّم
You have reached sixty—alas for you—so know
that what comes after is but a reprieve for you.
فَإِذاso when ماemphatic particle اِنقَضَتhave ended سِنوكَyour years وَوَلَّتand passed
فَإِذا ما اِنقَضَت سِنوكَ وَوَلَّت
فَصَلَsettled الحاكِمُthe Judge القَضاءَthe judgment فَأَبرَمthen made it final
فَصَلَ الحاكِمُ القَضاءَ فَأَبرَم
For when your years have ended and passed,
the Judge will pronounce judgment and make it final.
أَنتَyou مِثلُlike السِجِلِّa scroll يُنشَرُis unrolled حيناًfor a time
أَنتَ مِثلُ السِجِلِّ يُنشَرُ حيناً
ثُمَّthen يُطوىis rolled up مِنfrom بَعدِafter ذاكَthat وَيُختَمand is sealed
ثُمَّ يُطوى مِن بَعدِ ذاكَ وَيُختَم
You are like a scroll, unrolled for a time,
then rolled up afterward and sealed.
كَيفَhow يَلتَذُّtakes delight بِالحَياةِin life لَبيبٌa wise man
كَيفَ يَلتَذُّ بِالحَياةِ لَبيبٌ
فَوَّقَتhas nocked نَحوَهُtoward him المَنِيَّةُDeath أَسهُمarrows
فَوَّقَت نَحوَهُ المَنِيَّةُ أَسهُم
How can a wise man delight in life
when Death has nocked arrows aimed at him?
لَيسَdoes not يَدريknow مَتىwhen يُفاجيهِtakes him by surprise مِنهاamong them
لَيسَ يَدري مَتى يُفاجيهِ مِنها
صائِبٌa shaft striking true يَقصِفُshatters الظُهورَbacks وَيَقصِمand breaks
صائِبٌ يَقصِفُ الظُهورَ وَيَقصِم
He does not know when one of them will catch him unawares—
a shaft that strikes true, shattering backs and breaking them.
ماwhat is wrong لِغُصنيwith my branch ذَوىhas withered وَكانَand was نَضيراًfresh
ما لِغُصني ذَوى وَكانَ نَضيراً
وَلِظَهريand with my back اِنحَنىhas bent وَكانَand was مُقَوَّمupright
وَلِظَهري اِنحَنى وَكانَ مُقَوَّم
Why has my branch withered, though once fresh,
and my back bent, though once upright,
وَلِحَدّيand with my edge نَباhas grown blunt وَكانَand was مُبيراًdeadly
وَلِحَدّي نَبا وَكانَ مُبيراً
وَلِجَيشيand with my army اِنثَنىhas turned back وَكانَand was عَرَمرَمvast and mighty
وَلِجَيشي اِنثَنى وَكانَ عَرَمرَم
and my edge grown blunt, though once deadly,
and my army retreated, though once a mighty host?
وَلِدَهريand with my fate أَدالَhas replaced شَرخَthe prime of شَبابيmy youth
وَلِدَهري أَدالَ شَرخَ شَبابي
بِمَشيَبٍwith gray hair عِندَin the eyes of الحِسانِbeautiful women مُذَمَّمscorned
بِمَشيَبٍ عِندَ الحِسانِ مُذَمَّم
And why has Time replaced the prime of my youth
with gray hair, scorned by beautiful women?
فَأَناso I اليَومَtoday عَنfrom هَواهُنَّlove for them سالٍfree of longing
فَأَنا اليَومَ عَن هَواهُنَّ سالٍ
وَقَديماًand formerly بِهُنَّby them كُنتُI was مُتَيَّمenslaved by love
وَقَديماً بِهُنَّ كُنتُ مُتَيَّم
So today I am free of longing for them,
though once I was enslaved by love for them.
لَوif بِرَوقِwith the horn of الزَمانِTime يَنطَحُbutts يَوماًone day
لَو بِرَوقِ الزَمانِ يَنطَحُ يَوماً
رُكنُthe flank of ثَهلانَThahlan هَدَّهُwould shatter it فَتَهَدَّمso it would crumble
رُكنُ ثَهلانَ هَدَّهُ فَتَهَدَّم
If one day Time were to butt with its horn
the flank of Thahlan, it would shatter it, and it would crumble.
نَحنُwe فيin مَنزِلِthe abode of الفَناءِperishing وَلَكِنand yet
نَحنُ في مَنزِلِ الفَناءِ وَلَكِن
هُوَit بابٌa gate إِلىto البَقاءِeternity وَسُلَّمand a ladder
هُوَ بابٌ إِلى البَقاءِ وَسُلَّم
We are in the abode of mortality, yet
it is a gate to eternity, and a ladder.
وَرَحىand the millstone of المَوتِdeath تَستَديرُturns عَلَيناupon us
وَرَحى المَوتِ تَستَديرُ عَلَينا
أَبَداًalways تَطحَنُgrinds الجَميعَeveryone وَتَهشِمand crushes
أَبَداً تَطحَنُ الجَميعَ وَتَهشِم
And Death's millstone turns upon us,
always grinding everyone and crushing them.
وَأَناand I موقِنٌcertain بِذاكَof that عَليمٌwell aware
وَأَنا موقِنٌ بِذاكَ عَليمٌ
وَفِعاليand my deeds فِعالُthe deeds of مَنone who لَيسَdoes not يَعلَمknow
وَفِعالي فِعالُ مَن لَيسَ يَعلَم
And I am certain of that, knowing it well,
yet my deeds are those of one who does not know.
وَكَذاand thus أَمتَطيI ride الهُوَيناleisurely ease إِلىuntil أَنthat
وَكَذا أَمتَطي الهُوَينا إِلى أَن
أُتَوَفّىI am taken in death فَعِندَthen at ذَلِكَthat time أَندَمI feel remorse
أُتَوَفّى فَعِندَ ذَلِكَ أَندَم
And thus I make ease my mount, until
I am taken in death; then I shall feel remorse.
فَعَسىso perhaps مَنthe One لَهُfor Him أُعَفِّرُI rub in dust وَجهيmy face
فَعَسى مَن لَهُ أُعَفِّرُ وَجهي
سَيَرىwill see فاقَتيmy need إِلَيهِof Him فَيَرحَمthen show mercy
سَيَرى فاقَتي إِلَيهِ فَيَرحَم
So perhaps He for whom I rub my face in dust
will see my need of Him and show mercy.
فَشَفيعيso my intercessor إِلَيهِwith Him حُسنُgoodness of ظُنونيmy expectations
فَشَفيعي إِلَيهِ حُسنُ ظُنوني
وَرَجائيand my hope لَهُin Him وَأَنّيand that I am مُسلِمa Muslim
وَرَجائي لَهُ وَأَنّي مُسلِم
So my intercessor with Him is my good opinion of Him,
my hope in Him, and the fact that I am a Muslim.
وَلَهُand to Him الحَمدُpraise أَنthat هَدانيHe guided me لِهَذاto this
وَلَهُ الحَمدُ أَن هَداني لِهَذا
عَدَدَthe number of القَطرِraindrops ماas long as الحَمامُdoves تَرَنَّمsing melodiously
عَدَدَ القَطرِ ما الحَمامُ تَرَنَّم
And praise be to Him for guiding me to this,
as many times as there are raindrops, as long as doves sing.
وَإِلَيهِand to Him ضَراعَتيmy humble plea وَاِبتِهاليand my fervent prayer
وَإِلَيهِ ضَراعَتي وَاِبتِهالي
فيfor مُعافاةِthe sparing of شَيبَتيmy gray hairs مِنfrom جَهَنَّمHell
في مُعافاةِ شَيبَتي مِن جَهَنَّم
And to Him go my humble plea and fervent prayer,
for my gray hairs to be spared from Hell.
Sol 6.1