خَرِسَfell mute الثَرىthe soil وَتَكَلَّمَand spoke الزَهرُthe blossoms
خَرِسَ الثَرى وَتَكَلَّمَ الزَهرُ
وَبَكىand wept السَحابُthe clouds وَقَهقَهَand laughed aloud القَطرُthe rain
وَبَكى السَحابُ وَقَهقَهَ القَطرُ
The soil fell mute, and the blossoms spoke.
The earth fell silent, and the flowers spoke,
And the clouds wept, and the rain laughed aloud.
The clouds wept, and the raindrops laughed,
نَشَرَspread out الرَبيعُspring بُرودَrobes مَكرُمَةٍbounty
نَشَرَ الرَبيعُ بُرودَ مَكرُمَةٍ
خُضراًgreen يَقومُundertakes بِنَشرِهاto unfold them الشِعرُpoetry
خُضراً يَقومُ بِنَشرِها الشِعرُ
Spring spread out robes of bounty,
Spring spread its gentle chill,
Green robes that poetry undertakes to unfold.
Which poetry spreads with green,
وَكَأَنَّand as though صُفرَthe yellow ones بَهارِهاits daisies ذَهَبٌgold
وَكَأَنَّ صُفرَ بَهارِها ذَهَبٌ
وَكَأَنَّand as though حُمرَthe red ones شَقيقِهاits anemones جَمرُembers
وَكَأَنَّ حُمرَ شَقيقِها جَمرُ
And its yellow daisies seem like gold,
Its yellow blossoms like gold,
And its red anemones seem like embers.
Its red anemones like embers,
ياO سائِليyou who ask me عَنabout عاشِقٍa lover دَنَفٍwasted by illness
يا سائِلي عَن عاشِقٍ دَنَفٍ
ماwhat حالُthe state مَنone who نَدمانُهُhis boon companion الهَجرُestrangement
ما حالُ مَن نَدمانُهُ الهَجرُ
O you who ask me about a lover wasting away,
Oh you who ask about a love-sick lean lover,
What is the state of one whose boon companion is estrangement?
What is the state of one whom separation grieves,
صَبٌّa love-stricken man عَلَيهِupon him مِنَof الهَوىpassion حُلَلٌrobes
صَبٌّ عَلَيهِ مِنَ الهَوى حُلَلٌ
مِنfrom تَحتِهِنَّbeneath them مَفاصِلٌjoints غُبرُdust-grey
مِن تَحتِهِنَّ مَفاصِلٌ غُبرُ
A love-stricken man, with robes of passion upon him,
On him passions of love like garments,
Beneath them are dust-grey joints.
Beneath them joints covered in dust,
فَكَأَنَّso as though يَومَa day حَياتِهِhis life سَنَةٌa year
فَكَأَنَّ يَومَ حَياتِهِ سَنَةٌ
وَكَأَنَّand as though ساعَةَan hour لَيلِهِhis night دَهرُan age
وَكَأَنَّ ساعَةَ لَيلِهِ دَهرُ
So a day of his life seems like a year,
So that his day of life becomes like a year,
And an hour of his night seems like an age.
And an hour of his night like an epoch,
لِمَwhy لاnot يَموتُdies فَتىًa youth يُعَذِّبُهُtorments him
لِمَ لا يَموتُ فَتىً يُعَذِّبُهُ
صَنَمٌan idol لَهُit has مِنof فِضَّةٍsilver نَحرُan upper chest
صَنَمٌ لَهُ مِن فِضَّةٍ نَحرُ
Why does a youth not die when he is tormented
Why doesn't the youth die whom
By an idol with a breast of silver?
A silver idol tortures with cleavage?
Sol 6.1