قَضَتfulfilled وَطَراًa desire مِنّيfrom me النَّوىseparation وَتَخاذَلَتْand faltered
قَضَت وَطَراً مِنّي النَّوى وَتَخاذَلَتْ
قُوىpowers العيسِof the pale camels واِنضَمَّتand closed in عَلَيناupon us المَفاوزُthe deserts
قُوى العيسِ واِنضَمَّت عَلَينا المَفاوزُ
Separation has had its fill of me, and spent is
My desire has accomplished its goal, and my strength has weakened,
the pale camels' strength; the deserts have closed in upon us.
The icy seasons have conspired against me, and the barren lands hem me in.
وَنِضويand my worn-out camel لِذاتِtoward the place of الضَّالِthe wild lote trees قالٍaverse وَبالنَّقاand at the sand-dune
وَنِضوي لِذاتِ الضَّالِ قالٍ وَبالنَّقا
شَجٍsorrowful وَعَلىand at واديthe valley of الأَراكَةِthe arak tree ناشِزُrestive
شَجٍ وَعَلى وادي الأَراكَةِ ناشِزُ
And my worn-out camel loathes Dhat al-Dal, and at al-Naqa
We wander lost, while the critic berates and accuses,
is sorrowful, and at Wadi al-Arakah is restive.
Through rugged lands and valleys of hardship our journey lies.
وَلَولاكِand were it not for you ياO ذاتَwearer of الوِشاحَينِthe two sashes لَمnot يَكُنwould be
وَلَولاكِ يا ذاتَ الوِشاحَينِ لَم يَكُن
لِمِثليَfor one like me عَمّاfrom what يُعقِبُbrings about العِزَّhonor حاجِزُa barrier
لِمِثليَ عَمّا يُعقِبُ العِزَّ حاجِزُ
And were it not for you, O wearer of the two sashes, there would be no
If not for you, O veil-clad beauty, one such as I
barrier keeping one like me from what brings honor.
Could never rise above what follows glory's demise.
يُعَيِّرُنيtaunts me بالعَجزِfor helplessness صَحبيmy companions وَساعِديand my forearm
يُعَيِّرُني بالعَجزِ صَحبي وَساعِدي
شَديدٌstrong وَلَكِنَّand yet المُتَيَّمَthe love-enslaved man عاجِزُhelpless
شَديدٌ وَلَكِنَّ المُتَيَّمَ عاجِزُ
My companions taunt me for helplessness, though my forearm
My friends reproach my weakness, though my will remains firm,
is strong; yet the man enthralled by love is helpless.
Yet the longing lover can do naught but agonize.
وَماand there is no فيin سُلوِّforgetting النَّفسِthe soul عَنكِabout you طَماعَةٌhope
وَما في سُلوِّ النَّفسِ عَنكِ طَماعَةٌ
فَماfor ... not هَذِهِthese الأَهواءُpassions إِلّاexcept غَرائِزُinborn impulses
فَما هَذِهِ الأَهواءُ إِلّا غَرائِزُ
And there is no hope of my soul's forgetting you;
In my soul there is no guile toward you,
for these passions are nothing but instincts.
These passions stir in me no other than nature's ties.
Sol 6.1