وَقتٌtime يَمُرُّpasses وَأَقدارٌand destinies مُسَبَّبةٌbrought about by causes
وَقتٌ يَمُرُّ وَأَقدارٌ مُسَبَّبةٌ
مِنهاamong them الصَغيرُthe slight وَمِنهاand among them الفادِحُthe grievous الَجَلَلُthe momentous
مِنها الصَغيرُ وَمِنها الفادِحُ الَجَلَلُ
Time passes, and destinies have their causes:
Some are slight, and some grievous and momentous.
وَاللَهُand God يَقدِرُis able أَنto يُفنيannihilate بَريَّتَهُHis creatures
وَاللَهُ يَقدِرُ أَن يُفني بَريَّتَهُ
مِنfrom غَيرِother than سُقمٍsickness وَلَكِنand yet جُندُهُHis troops العِلَلُailments
مِن غَيرِ سُقمٍ وَلَكِن جُندُهُ العِلَلُ
And God can annihilate His creatures
Without sickness, yet ailments are His troops.
وَفيand in اللَياليthe nights مَضاءٌsharpness مُوَجَّبٌbringing about أَبَداًforever
وَفي اللَيالي مَضاءٌ مُوَجَّبٌ أَبَداً
كُلولَdullness طِرفِكَyour gaze عَمّاfrom what حازَتِenclosed الكِلَلُthe curtains
كُلولَ طِرفِكَ عَمّا حازَتِ الكِلَلُ
And the nights have a sharpness that forever brings
Dullness to your gaze before what the curtains enclose.
سُقياthe watering الغَمائِمِof the clouds بَعضَsome of الإِنسِhumankind تُفسِدُهruins them
سُقيا الغَمائِمِ بَعضَ الإِنسِ تُفسِدُه
كَالطَرسِlike parchment يَهلِكُperishes إِمّاif مَسَّهُtouches it البَلَلُdampness
كَالطَرسِ يَهلِكُ إِمّا مَسَّهُ البَلَلُ
The clouds' rain ruins some people,
Like parchment that perishes if dampness touches it.
وَدِدتُI wish أَنِّيَthat I مِثلُlike السَيفِthe sword لَيسَis not لَهُfor it
وَدِدتُ أَنِّيَ مِثلُ السَيفِ لَيسَ لَهُ
حِسٌّfeeling إِذاwhen فُلَّis chipped أَوor رَثَّتgrew worn لَهُfor it خِلَلُsheaths
حِسٌّ إِذا فُلَّ أَو رَثَّت لَهُ خِلَلُ
I wish I were like a sword, which has no
Feeling when chipped, or when its sheaths grow worn.
ظَلَّتcontinued غَرائِزُinborn traits مِنّاwithin us باعِثاتِarousing أَسىًsorrow
ظَلَّت غَرائِزُ مِنّا باعِثاتِ أَسىً
إِذاwhen الضَنىwasting illness حَلَّsettles in أَوor لَمnot يُؤهَلَis inhabited الطَلَلُthe ruined dwelling
إِذا الضَنى حَلَّ أَو لَم يُؤهَلَ الطَلَلُ
Our inborn traits keep stirring sorrow
When wasting illness comes, or the ruined dwelling stands empty.
فيamong الناسِpeople مَنsomeone فَقرُهُhis poverty عُزٌّhonor لِجارَتِهِfor his female neighbor
في الناسِ مَن فَقرُهُ عُزٌّ لِجارَتِهِ
وَجارُهُand his neighbor وَغِناهُwith his wealth كُلَّهُall of it ذَلِلُabject
وَجارُهُ وَغِناهُ كُلَّهُ ذَلِلُ
Among men is one whose poverty brings honor to his female neighbor,
Yet his neighbor, for all his wealth, is abject.
ضَلَّwent astray اِمرُؤٌa man قالَsaid خِلّيmy close friend أَستَعينُI seek help بِهِfrom him
ضَلَّ اِمرُؤٌ قالَ خِلّي أَستَعينُ بِهِ
وَأَيُّand which خِلٍّclose friend نَأىwas far removed عَنfrom وِدِّهِhis affection خَلَلُa flaw
وَأَيُّ خِلٍّ نَأى عَن وِدِّهِ خَلَلُ
Misguided is the man who says, 'I seek my friend's help.'
And what friend's affection has ever been free of flaws?
وَماand not فَتِئتُI ceased وَأَيّاميwhile my days تُجَدَّدُare renewed ليfor me
وَما فَتِئتُ وَأَيّامي تُجَدَّدُ لي
حَتّىuntil مَلَلتُI grew weary وَلَمand not يَظهَرappeared بِهاin them مَلَلُweariness
حَتّى مَلَلتُ وَلَم يَظهَر بِها مَلَلُ
And I have kept on, my days renewed for me,
Until I grew weary, though no weariness appeared in them.
إِنَّindeed الأَكُفَّthe hands إِذاif كانَتthey are عَلىtoward سَرَقٍtheft
إِنَّ الأَكُفَّ إِذا كانَت عَلى سَرَقٍ
مَجبولَةًinnately disposed فَجَديرٌthen fitting ماindeed (emphatic) بِهاfor them الشَلَلُparalysis
مَجبولَةً فَجَديرٌ ما بِها الشَلَلُ
Indeed, if hands are bent on theft
By nature, then paralysis is their due.
وَالحائِمونَand those circling thirstily كَثيرٌmany ثُمَّthen بَعدَهُمُafter them
وَالحائِمونَ كَثيرٌ ثُمَّ بَعدَهُمُ
قَومٌsome people نِهالٌquenched وَقَومٍand some people كَظَّهُمglutted them عَلَلُsecond draughts
قَومٌ نِهالٌ وَقَومٍ كَظَّهُم عَلَلُ
And many circle thirsting; then, after them,
Are some who are quenched, and some glutted with second draughts.
الشِعرُpoetry كَالناسِlike people تَلقىyou find الأَرضَthe earth جائِشَةًseething
الشِعرُ كَالناسِ تَلقى الأَرضَ جائِشَةً
بِالجَمعِwith the throng يُزجىbeing driven onward وَخَيرٌyet better مِنهُمُthan them رَجُلُone man
بِالجَمعِ يُزجى وَخَيرٌ مِنهُمُ رَجُلُ
Poetry is like people: you find the earth seething
With a throng driven onward, yet one man is better than them all.
Sol 6.1