جَلَوتُ مِرآتي فَيا لَيتَني

جَلَوتُ مِرآتي فَيا لَيتَني

تَرَكتُها لَم أَجلُ عَنها الصَدا

تَرَكتُها لَم أَجلُ عَنها الصَدا

I polished my mirror—oh, if only I

I looked into my mirror, oh how I wish

Had left it without polishing away its rust,

I had not looked and turned away instead.

كَي لا أَرى فيها البَياضَ الَّذي

كَي لا أَرى فيها البَياضَ الَّذي

في الرَأسِ وَالعارِضِ مِنّي بَدا

في الرَأسِ وَالعارِضِ مِنّي بَدا

So I would not see in it the whiteness that

So I would not see the whiteness that

Has appeared on my head and in my beard.

Appeared in my hair and on my temple.

يا حَسرَتا أَينَ الشَبابُ الَّذي

يا حَسرَتا أَينَ الشَبابُ الَّذي

عَلى تَعَدّيهِ المَشيبُ اِعتَدى

عَلى تَعَدّيهِ المَشيبُ اِعتَدى

Alas, where is the youth whose

Oh what sorrow! Where is the youth that

Excesses gray hair assailed?

Old age has transgressed upon?

شِبتُ فَما أَنفَكُّ مِن حَسرَةٍ

شِبتُ فَما أَنفَكُّ مِن حَسرَةٍ

وَالشَيبُ في الرَأسِ رَسولُ الرَدى

وَالشَيبُ في الرَأسِ رَسولُ الرَدى

I have turned gray and cannot break free of sorrow;

I grew old, ceaselessly full of regret,

And gray hair on the head is death's messenger.

For gray hair is the messenger of demise.

إِنَّ مَدى العُمرِ قَريبٌ فَما

إِنَّ مَدى العُمرِ قَريبٌ فَما

بَقاءُ نَفسي بَعدَ قُربِ المَدى

بَقاءُ نَفسي بَعدَ قُربِ المَدى

Indeed, life's end is near—so what

The span of life is short, my soul will not

Life remains to me, now that the end is near?

Endure long after nearing its end.