بِحِكمَةِby the wisdom of خالِقيmy Creator طَيّيmy folding وَنَشريand my unfolding
بِحِكمَةِ خالِقي طَيّي وَنَشري
وَلَيسَand is not بِمُعجِزِbeyond the power of الخُلّاقِthe Creator حَشريmy resurrection
وَلَيسَ بِمُعجِزِ الخُلّاقِ حَشري
By my Creator's wisdom come my folding and unfolding;
nor is my resurrection beyond the Creator's power.
وَقَدand indeed رَفَقَshowed gentleness الَّذيthe one who أَوصىenjoined أُناساًsome people
وَقَد رَفَقَ الَّذي أَوصى أُناساً
بِعُشرٍwith a tenth فيin الزَكاةِalmsgiving وَنِصفِand half عُشرِa tenth
بِعُشرٍ في الزَكاةِ وَنِصفِ عُشرِ
And gentle was he who enjoined on people
a tenth in alms, and half a tenth.
إِذاwhen رَشِرَتgrew greedy أَكُفٌّpalms مِنof رِجالٍmen
إِذا رَشِرَت أَكُفٌّ مِن رِجالٍ
فَماthen how أَولىdeserving أَنامِلَهُمtheir fingertips بِأَشرِof being sawn
فَما أَولى أَنامِلَهُم بِأَشرِ
When men's palms grow greedy,
then how deserving their fingertips are of the saw!
أُحِبُّكِI love you أَيُّهاO الدُنِّياworld كَغَيريlike others besides me
أُحِبُّكِ أَيُّها الدُنِّيا كَغَيري
وَأَشرانيand has provoked me قِلاكِyour scorn وَلَستُand I am not أُشريI provoke anger
وَأَشراني قِلاكِ وَلَستُ أُشري
I love you, O world, as others do;
and your scorn has provoked me, though I provoke no one.
وَنَهوىand we love العَيشَlife فيكِin you مَعَwith الرَزاياcalamities
وَنَهوى العَيشَ فيكِ مَعَ الرَزايا
وَماand what طَوَّلتِyou have prolonged مِنof خِمسٍa fifth-day watering interval وَعِشرِand a tenth-day watering interval
وَما طَوَّلتِ مِن خِمسٍ وَعِشرِ
And we love life in you, despite calamities
and the five- and ten-day waits for water you prolong.
وَهَذاand this الدَهرُage بَشَّرَbrought glad tidings بِالمَناياof deaths
وَهَذا الدَهرُ بَشَّرَ بِالمَنايا
فَلِمso why فَرِحَتrejoiced بِبَشرٍin a mortal أُمُّmother of بِشرِBishr
فَلِم فَرِحَت بِبَشرٍ أُمُّ بِشرِ
And this age has brought glad tidings of death;
so why did Bishr's mother rejoice in a mortal?
تَخوّنَwore away أَربَعيmy four وَمَضىand went away بِخَمسيwith my five
تَخوّنَ أَربَعي وَمَضى بِخَمسي
وَأَعلَقَand hung فيin حِبالِcords of الشَمسِthe sun عَشريmy ten
وَأَعلَقَ في حِبالِ الشَمسِ عَشري
It has worn away my four and carried off my five,
and hung my ten in the sun's cords.
سُطورٌlines نَحنُwe نَكتُبُهاwe write them لَيالٍnights
سُطورٌ نَحنُ نَكتُبُها لَيالٍ
مَداهاtheir reach كَالمُدىlike knives غَرِيَتbecame intent بِقَشرِon flaying
مَداها كَالمُدى غَرِيَت بِقَشرِ
The lines we write are nights;
their reach is like knives bent on flaying.
Sol 6.1