سُقياً لحربٍ جنيتُها عبثاً

سُقياً لحربٍ جنيتُها عبثاً

سهامُها الراحُ بالرياحينِ

سهامُها الراحُ بالرياحينِ

May rain bless a war I provoked in jest!

Watering a war I reaped in vain

Blessings upon a war I waged in jest,

Its arrows are wine with fragrant herbs.

Its arrows gone with the gentle breeze

Whose arrows are wine mixed with basil leaves,

ومنجنيقُ القذافِ بربطهُ

ومنجنيقُ القذافِ بربطهُ

وقَذفةُ الضربِ بالرواثينِ

وقَذفةُ الضربِ بالرواثينِ

And the bombardier's catapult is his lute,

And its catapult tied up with ropes

The catapult of the hurler is his lute,

And the volley of blows is delivered with the rawāthīn.

Its missiles struck down in the meadows

And the strumming's volley targets the breath,

يديرُها كلّ أحورٍ غنِج

يديرُها كلّ أحورٍ غنِج

وكلّ خُمصانةٍ من العينِ

وكلّ خُمصانةٍ من العينِ

Every coquettish, dark-eyed man passes it round,

Turned by every squint-eyed flirt

It is directed by every wide-eyed coquette,

And every slender-waisted, large-eyed woman.

And every bleary-eyed drunkard

And every slender-waisted beauty among the fair,

فهذهِ حربُنا ولذّتُنا

فهذهِ حربُنا ولذّتُنا

ليست كحربٍ لذي المجانين

ليست كحربٍ لذي المجانين

This, then, is our war and our delight;

This is our war, our pleasure

For this is our war and our delight,

It is not like the war of the madmen's master.

Not like the war of the deranged

Not like the wars of the raving mad.