لانَتwere soft عَلىto المَسِّthe touch بِالأَيديwith hands جُسومُهُمtheir bodies
لانَت عَلى المَسِّ بِالأَيدي جُسومُهُم
وَفيand in الصُدورِthe breasts لَعَمريby my life يَنبُتُgrows الحَسَكُthorns
وَفي الصُدورِ لَعَمري يَنبُتُ الحَسَكُ
Their bodies were soft to the touch of hands,
Their bodies prostrate in prayer,
Yet in their breasts, by my life, thorns grow.
And in their chests, I swear, bitterness grows.
فيin الحَربِwar عَقلُblood-money رِجالٍmen إِنif هُمthey قُتِلواthey are killed
في الحَربِ عَقلُ رِجالٍ إِن هُم قُتِلوا
وَفيand in الحِجاreason عَقلُintellect نِسوانٍwomen لَهاthey have مَسَكُbracelets
وَفي الحِجا عَقلُ نِسوانٍ لَها مَسَكُ
In war, if they are killed, their blood-price is that of men;
In war, men’s minds, when their lives end,
Yet in reason, theirs is the wit of women wearing bracelets.
And women’s minds, in pilgrimage, from which perfume flows.
تَمَسَّكواthey clung بِحِبالِto the ropes of النُسكِpiety فيin زَمَنٍa time
تَمَسَّكوا بِحِبالِ النُسكِ في زَمَنٍ
وَلاحَand appeared نَزرٌa trifle فَخَلّواso they abandoned ماwhat بِهِto it اِمتَسَكواthey had clung
وَلاحَ نَزرٌ فَخَلّوا ما بِهِ اِمتَسَكوا
They clung to the ropes of piety for a time,
They clung to the ropes of purity in an age
And a trifle appeared, so they abandoned what they had clung to.
When all integrity faded, lost was their grip.
Sol 6.1