حَنتي حانِياتُ الدَّهر حَتَّى

حَنتي حانِياتُ الدَّهر حَتَّى

كأَنِّي خاتِلٌ يَدنُو لِصَيدِ

كأَنِّي خاتِلٌ يَدنُو لِصَيدِ

Time's afflictions have bowed me until

My sorrow has wearied me for so long

I seem a stealthy hunter drawing near to game,

As if I were a hunter drawing near his prey

قَريبُ الخَطوِ يَحَسبُ مَن رآني

قَريبُ الخَطوِ يَحَسبُ مَن رآني

ولَستُ مُقَيَّداً أَنَّى بِقَيدِ

ولَستُ مُقَيَّداً أَنَّى بِقَيدِ

Short of stride; whoever sees me thinks—

Those who see me think my steps are close

Though I am not fettered—that I am in chains.

Yet I am not confined by any bond