أَيُنْكِرُDoes it deny الوَجْدُpassion أَنِّيthat I فِيin الهَوىَlove شَحِبُam pale
أَيُنْكِرُ الوَجْدُ أَنِّي فِي الهَوىَ شَحِبُ
وَدُونَand behind كُلِّevery دُخَانٍsmoke سَاطِعٍrising لَهِبُis a flame
وَدُونَ كُلِّ دُخَانٍ سَاطِعٍ لَهِبُ
Can passion deny that I have grown pale with love?
Behind every rising cloud of smoke there is a flame.
وَمَاand I have not سَلَوتُforgotten كَمَاas ظَنَّthought الوِشَاةُthe tale-bearers وَلاَnor
وَمَا سَلَوتُ كَمَا ظَنَّ الوِشَاةُ وَلاَ
أَسْلُوwill I forget كَمَاas يَتَرجَّىhopes العَاذِلُthe reprover التَّعِبُthe weary one
أَسْلُو كَمَا يَتَرجَّى العَاذِلُ التَّعِبُ
I have not forgotten, as the tale-bearers supposed, nor
Will I forget, as the weary reprover hopes.
فَإِنْso if بَكَىweeps لِصَبَابَاتِيover my longings عَذُولُa reprover هَوىًof love
فَإِنْ بَكَى لِصَبَابَاتِي عَذُولُ هَوىً
فَلىthen for me بِمَاin what مِنْهُfrom it يَبْكِىweeps عَاذِليmy reprover طَرَبُis delight
فَلى بِمَا مِنْهُ يَبْكِى عَاذِلي طَرَبُ
If a reprover of love weeps over my longing,
What makes my reprover weep brings me delight.
نَاشَدْتُكَI implore you الَّلهَby God يَاO رُوحيmy soul اذْهُبَىgo كَلَفاًovercome with longing
نَاشَدْتُكَ الَّلهَ يَا رُوحي اذْهُبَى كَلَفاً
بِحُبِّfor love of قَوْمٍa people عَنِfrom الجَرْعَاءِal-Jar‘āʾ قَدْhave ذَهَبُواdeparted
بِحُبِّ قَوْمٍ عَنِ الجَرْعَاءِ قَدْ ذَهَبُوا
I implore you by God, my soul: go, overcome with longing
For people who have departed from al-Jar‘āʾ.
لاَdo not تَسْأَلِيْهُمْask them ذِمَاماًfor a pledge فِيin مَحَبَّتِهمْtheir love
لاَ تَسْأَلِيْهُمْ ذِمَاماً فِي مَحَبَّتِهمْ
فَطَالَمَاfor many times قَدْindeed وَفَاhas fulfilled بِالذِّمَةِthe pledge العَرَبُthe Arabs
فَطَالَمَا قَدْ وَفَا بِالذِّمَةِ العَرَبُ
Do not ask them for a pledge in love;
For the Arabs have long kept their pledges.
هُمْthey أَهْلُare worthy of وُدِّيmy affection وَهَذَاand this وَاجِبٌis due لَهُمُto them
هُمْ أَهْلُ وُدِّي وَهَذَا وَاجِبٌ لَهُمُ
وَإِنَّمَاbut only وُدهُمْtheir affection ليfor me فَهْوَso it لاَdoes not يَجِبُbecome obligatory
وَإِنَّمَا وُدهُمْ لي فَهْوَ لاَ يَجِبُ
They are worthy of my affection, and it is their due;
But their affection for me is no obligation upon them.
هُمْthey أَلْبَسُونِيclothed me سِقَاماًin illness مِنْfrom جُفُونِهِمُtheir eyelids
هُمْ أَلْبَسُونِي سِقَاماً مِنْ جُفُونِهِمُ
أَصْبَحْتُI have become أَرْفُلُtrailing فِيهِin it وَهْوَwhile it يَنْسَحِبُtrails along
أَصْبَحْتُ أَرْفُلُ فِيهِ وَهْوَ يَنْسَحِبُ
From their eyelids they clothed me in illness;
I now trail it about me like a flowing robe.
وَصَيَّرَتْand made أَدْمُعيmy tears حُمْراًred خُدُودُهمُtheir cheeks
وَصَيَّرَتْ أَدْمُعي حُمْراً خُدُودُهمُ
فَكَيْفَso how أَجْحَدُcould I deny مَاwhat مَنُّواthey bestowed وَمَاand what وَهَبُواthey gave
فَكَيْفَ أَجْحَدُ مَا مَنُّوا وَمَا وَهَبُوا
Their cheeks have turned my tears red;
How could I deny what they have bestowed?
هَلِis السَّلاَمَةُsafety إِلاَّexcept أَنْthat أَمُوتَI die بِهِمْfor them
هَلِ السَّلاَمَةُ إِلاَّ أَنْ أَمُوتَ بِهِمْ
وَجْداًof longing وَإِلاَّand otherwise فبُقْيَاىَthen my remaining alive هُوَis العَطَبُruin
وَجْداً وَإِلاَّ فبُقْيَاىَ هُوَ العَطَبُ
Is there any safety except to die for them
Of longing? For to remain alive is ruin.
إِنْif يَسْلُبُواthey take away البَعْضَa part مِنِّيof me فَالجَميعُthen the whole لَهُمْis theirs
إِنْ يَسْلُبُوا البَعْضَ مِنِّي فَالجَميعُ لَهُمْ
وَإِنّand indeed أَشْرفَthe noblest أَجْزَائِيof my parts الَّذِيis what سَلَبُواthey took
وَإِنّ أَشْرفَ أَجْزَائِي الَّذِي سَلَبُوا
If they take a part of me, the whole belongs to them,
Though what they took was the noblest part of me.
لَوْif تَعْلَمُknew العَذَبَاتُthe branch tips المَايسَاتُthe swaying ones بِمَنْfor whom
لَوْ تَعْلَمُ العَذَبَاتُ المَايسَاتُ بِمَنْ
قَدْthey have بَانَbeen separated عَنْهَاfrom them إِذَنْthen مَاnot اخْضَرَّتِwould grow green العَذَبُthe boughs
قَدْ بَانَ عَنْهَا إِذَنْ مَا اخْضَرَّتِ العَذَبُ
If the swaying branch tips knew for whom
They had been left behind, their boughs would not stay green.
وَلَوْand if دَرَىknew مَنْهُلُthe watering place الوَادِيof the valley الذَّيthat وَرَدُواthey visited
وَلَوْ دَرَى مَنْهُلُ الوَادِي الذَّي وَرَدُوا
مَنْwho وَارِدُواthose drawing مَائِهِits water لاَهْتَزَّهُdelight would make it tremble الطَرَبُdelight
مَنْ وَارِدُوا مَائِهِ لاَهْتَزَّهُ الطَرَبُ
And if the valley’s watering place they visited knew
Who came to drink its water, delight would make it tremble.
إِنِّيI لأَكْتُمُindeed hold back أَنْفَاسِيmy breaths إِذَاwhen ذُكِرُواthey are mentioned
إِنِّي لأَكْتُمُ أَنْفَاسِي إِذَا ذُكِرُوا
كَليْلاَlest يُحرِّقَهُمْit burn them مِنْfrom زَفْرَتيmy sigh اللَّهَبُthe flame
كَليْلاَ يُحرِّقَهُمْ مِنْ زَفْرَتي اللَّهَبُ
I hold my breath whenever they are mentioned,
Lest the fire of my sigh burn them.
وَتُرْسِلُand releases الدَّمْعَthe tears عَيْنيmy eye فِيat مَنَازِلِهِمْtheir dwellings
وَتُرْسِلُ الدَّمْعَ عَيْني فِي مَنَازِلِهِمْ
كَيْلاَlest تُسَابِقَهَاthey outpace it فِيin سَحِّهَاtheir outpouring السُّحُبُthe clouds
كَيْلاَ تُسَابِقَهَا فِي سَحِّهَا السُّحُبُ
My eyes release tears at their former dwellings,
Lest the clouds outpour them first.
كَذَاthus لِكُلِّfor every مُحِبٍّlover غَيْرَةٌis protective jealousy لَهُمُfor them
كَذَا لِكُلِّ مُحِبٍّ غَيْرَةٌ لَهُمُ
وَعِنْدَand with كُلِّevery غَيوُرٍjealous lover فِطْنَةٌis alertness عَجَبُwondrous
وَعِنْدَ كُلِّ غَيوُرٍ فِطْنَةٌ عَجَبُ
Thus every lover feels protective jealousy for them,
And every jealous lover has a wondrous alertness.
أُسَائِلُI question البَانَthe ban tree عَنْabout مَيْلِthe bending النَّسِيمِof the breeze بِهِمْtoward them
أُسَائِلُ البَانَ عَنْ مَيْلِ النَّسِيمِ بِهِمْ
سُؤَالَlike the questioning of مَنْone who لَيْسَdoes not يُدْرَىknow فِيهِin it مَاwhat السَّبَبُthe cause is
سُؤَالَ مَنْ لَيْسَ يُدْرَى فِيهِ مَا السَّبَبُ
I question the ban tree about the breeze that bends it toward them,
Like someone who cannot tell what caused it.
وَتِلْكَand those آثَارُare traces لِينٍof suppleness مِنْfrom قُدُودِهِمُtheir figures
وَتِلْكَ آثَارُ لِينٍ مِنْ قُدُودِهِمُ
مَرَّتْit passed بِهَاover them الرِّيحُthe wind فَاهْتَزَّتْso they swayed لَهَاfor it القُضُبُthe branches
مَرَّتْ بِهَا الرِّيحُ فَاهْتَزَّتْ لَهَا القُضُبُ
Those are traces of the suppleness of their figures:
The wind passed over the branches, and they swayed for it.
Sol 6