لَم يَطمَعِ اللَيلُ مِنّي أَن أَرِقَّ لَهُ

لَم يَطمَعِ اللَيلُ مِنّي أَن أَرِقَّ لَهُ

يَنسى جِناياتِهِ الناسي عَلى الناسِ

يَنسى جِناياتِهِ الناسي عَلى الناسِ

The night did not hope that I would take pity on it;

The night did not hope that I would stay up for it

The forgetful one forgets its crimes against people.

People forget their crimes against people

بِت مَيِّتاً بَينَ مَنظورٍ وَمُنتَظَرٍ

بِت مَيِّتاً بَينَ مَنظورٍ وَمُنتَظَرٍ

مِن أَبيَضِ الصُبحِ أَو مِن أَحمَرِ الكاسِ

مِن أَبيَضِ الصُبحِ أَو مِن أَحمَرِ الكاسِ

I spent the night as one dead, between the seen and the awaited—

I died between the seen and the awaited

the white of dawn or the red of the cup.

From the white of dawn or from the red of the cup

مِن جُنحِهِ تَأخُذُ الأَقلامُ صِبغَتَها

مِن جُنحِهِ تَأخُذُ الأَقلامُ صِبغَتَها

إِن أَودَعَت سَيِّئاتِ الدَهرِ قِرطاسي

إِن أَودَعَت سَيِّئاتِ الدَهرِ قِرطاسي

From its darkness the pens take their color,

From its wings the pens take their colors

if they set down Time's misdeeds on my paper.

If it deposits the evils of time on my paper

وَالضَربُ قَد لَجَّ بِالأَوتارِ أَو حُبِسَت

وَالضَربُ قَد لَجَّ بِالأَوتارِ أَو حُبِسَت

وَهَيَّجَ الحَليُ وَسواسي بِوَسواسِ

وَهَيَّجَ الحَليُ وَسواسي بِوَسواسِ

And the strumming persisted on the strings, or they were stilled;

And rhythm has intertwined with the strings or was detained

and the jewelry stirred my restless thoughts with its whispering.

And the trinkets stirred my obsession with obsession

وَكَيفَ يَطمَعُ أَن يَأتي بِصالِحَةٍ

وَكَيفَ يَطمَعُ أَن يَأتي بِصالِحَةٍ

مَن باتَ ما بَينَ وَسواسٍ وَخَنّاسِ

مَن باتَ ما بَينَ وَسواسٍ وَخَنّاسِ

And how can he hope to bring forth a good deed—

And how could it hope to come up with something good

he who spent the night between a whisperer and a slinking tempter?

He who spent the night between obsession and lurking