أَقولُI say لِصاحِبٍto a friend مِنfrom سِرِّthe noblest stock of عَبسٍʿAbs
أَقولُ لِصاحِبٍ مِن سِرِّ عَبسٍ
أَرىI see وَرديmy roses بِرُؤيَتِهِon seeing him وَآسيand my myrtle
أَرى وَردي بِرُؤيَتِهِ وَآسي
I say to a friend of the noblest stock of ʿAbs,
I say to a friend complaining of sadness
In seeing him, I see my roses and my myrtle:
I see my roses through his sight withered
شَكَوتَyou complained قَذىًa mote بِعَينِكَin your eye باتَspent the night يُدمىbeing bloodied
شَكَوتَ قَذىً بِعَينِكَ باتَ يُدمى
كَأَنَّكَas though you قَدalready نَظَرتَyou looked إِلىat طِماسِṬimās
كَأَنَّكَ قَد نَظَرتَ إِلى طِماسِ
You complained of a mote in your eye, which bled all night,
You complained of grit in your eye that caused pain
As though you had looked upon Ṭimās—
As if you had looked upon loss
إِلىat وَغدٍa wretch يَكادُalmost يَعودُreturns فيناamong us
إِلى وَغدٍ يَكادُ يَعودُ فينا
بِرُمحٍwith Rumḥ فيin التِنايَةِfarming أَوor شِماسِShimās
بِرُمحٍ في التِنايَةِ أَو شِماسِ
Upon a wretch who almost brings back among us
To a tomorrow that nearly comes back to us
Rumḥ in farming, or Shimās.
With a spear at dusk or a pickaxe
فَقَدتُكَmay I lose you ياO طِماسُṬimās فَكُلُّfor every عَيشٍlife
فَقَدتُكَ يا طِماسُ فَكُلُّ عَيشٍ
بِقُربِكَnear you أَخشَنُroughest الجَنَباتِsides جاسِhard
بِقُربِكَ أَخشَنُ الجَنَباتِ جاسِ
May I lose you, Ṭimās! For every life
I lost you, oh loss, so all living
Near you is rough on every side and hard.
Is with your nearness rough fabrics, coarse
تَمَخَّطُyou blow your nose لِلزُكامِbecause of a cold وَفيكَand within you بَردٌa chill
تَمَخَّطُ لِلزُكامِ وَفيكَ بَردٌ
جُمادِيُّof Jumādā يُخَبِّرُtells عَنof قُعاسِQuʿās
جُمادِيُّ يُخَبِّرُ عَن قُعاسِ
You blow your nose because of a cold, yet within you is a chill
Sniffling from the cold and in you is ice
Of Jumādā, bespeaking Quʿās.
A freezing February tells of hail
Sol 6.1