بُزاتُناour falcons الأَقداحُthe goblets
بُزاتُنا الأَقداحُ
دُرّاجُهُنَّtheir francolins الراحُthe wine
دُرّاجُهُنَّ الراحُ
Our falcons are goblets;
Our cups are maidens,
Our falcons are the drinking cups,
their francolins are wine.
Their lights, the breeze.
Their quarry is the wine,
قِسِيِّناour bows عيدانٌlutes
قِسِيِّنا عيدانٌ
أَوتارُهاtheir strings فِصاحُeloquent
أَوتارُها فِصاحُ
Our bows are lutes;
Our lances, twigs,
Our bows are wooden lutes in hand,
their strings are eloquent.
Their strings, our call.
With strings of eloquent design,
وَصَيدُناand our quarry ظِباءٌgazelles
وَصَيدُنا ظِباءٌ
كَأَنَّهاas though they were الصَباحُthe dawn
كَأَنَّها الصَباحُ
And our quarry are gazelles,
Our prey are gazelles,
The game we hunt are fair gazelles,
as though they were the dawn.
Like the dawn their hue.
Resplendent as the morning shine,
وَخَيلُناand our horses عَذارىvirgins
وَخَيلُنا عَذارى
عِذارُهاtheir bridle الوِشاحُthe sash
عِذارُها الوِشاحُ
And our horses are virgins;
Our steeds are virgins,
Our cavalry are maidens pure,
their bridle is the sash.
Their veils, their armor.
Their bridles, sashes fine,
مَيدانُهاtheir racecourse الحَشاياthe mattresses
مَيدانُها الحَشايا
وَرَكضُهاand their galloping النِكاحُsexual intercourse
وَرَكضُها النِكاحُ
Their racecourse is the mattresses,
Their field, the sands,
Their battlefield, the cushioned bed,
and their galloping is intercourse.
Their gallop, delight.
Their galloping, the act of love,
وَعَيشُناand our life مَوصولٌunbroken
وَعَيشُنا مَوصولٌ
بِغَدوَةٍto a morning رَواحُan evening
بِغَدوَةٍ رَواحُ
And our life goes on unbroken,
Our life's joined
Our life is joined continuously,
evening joined to morning.
To dawn's advance.
Linking the dawn to eve,
قَدindeed هَزَّناhas stirred us قِتالٌa battle
قَد هَزَّنا قِتالٌ
ماnot إِنat all (emphasis) بِهِin it جُناحُsin
ما إِن بِهِ جُناحُ
A battle has indeed stirred us,
Though we're rocked in battle,
A battle has stirred our very souls,
with no sin at all in it.
It has no wings.
In which no sin we weave.
Sol 6.1