غُبِقناwe were given an evening draught الأَذىharm وَالجاشِرِيَّةُand the dawn draught هَمُّناour concern
غُبِقنا الأَذى وَالجاشِرِيَّةُ هَمُّنا
وَنادىand called out ظَلامٌdarkness لاno سَبيلَway إِلىto الجَشرِdaybreak
وَنادى ظَلامٌ لا سَبيلَ إِلى الجَشرِ
We were given harm as an evening draught; the dawn draught is our concern.
We were overcome with harm and fear consumed us,
And darkness cried: there is no way to daybreak.
And darkness called with no way to salvation.
أَتَكتُبُdo you write? سَطراًa line لَيسَthere is not فيهِin it تَخَوُّفٌfear
أَتَكتُبُ سَطراً لَيسَ فيهِ تَخَوُّفٌ
لِرَبِّكَof your Lord ماhow أَولىdeserving بَنانَكَyour fingertips بِالأَشرِof being sawn
لِرَبِّكَ ما أَولى بَنانَكَ بِالأَشرِ
Do you write a line in which there is no fear
Shall I write a line with no apprehension
of your Lord? How your fingertips deserve the saw!
Of your Lord? How apt are your fingers for harm!
وَإِنand if بُتِكَتwere severed عَشرٌten فَمِنthen from بَعدِafter ماthat جَنَتthey committed wrongs
وَإِن بُتِكَت عَشرٌ فَمِن بَعدِ ما جَنَت
بِكُلِّwith each فَسيطٍnail-paring قُضَّwas snapped off أَكثَرَmore مِنthan عَشرِten
بِكُلِّ فَسيطٍ قُضَّ أَكثَرَ مِن عَشرِ
And if ten fingers are severed, it is after they have committed
And if ten are appointed, after what they reaped,
more than ten wrongs with each snapped-off nail-paring.
More than ten are destined for each harvest.
وَماand not زالَتِceased الأَيّامُthe days يُبشُرُscrapes صَرفُهاtheir vicissitudes
وَما زالَتِ الأَيّامُ يُبشُرُ صَرفُها
أَديمِيَmy skin حَتّىuntil ماnot يَحِسُّit feels مِنَof البَشرِscraping
أَديمِيَ حَتّى ما يَحِسُّ مِنَ البَشرِ
And the days' vicissitudes keep scraping
The days have not ceased to portend in their circuit
my skin, until it no longer feels the scraping.
Eternal woe, so that I feel no gladness.
وَحِبرِيَand my beauty أَودىhas perished بِالمَدىwith time's passage فَكَأَنَّهُso it is as though it were
وَحِبرِيَ أَودى بِالمَدى فَكَأَنَّهُ
جَديدٌa fresh hide مُدىًblades أَنحَتbore down لِحِبرِكَupon your ink بِالقَشرِby scraping
جَديدٌ مُدىً أَنحَت لِحِبرِكَ بِالقَشرِ
And my beauty has perished with time, as though it were
And my ink has wrought havoc on the page, as though
a fresh hide, with blades bent on scraping away your ink.
It were new, carving your ink's hull with peel.
وَأَعجَبُand the strangest ماwhat تَخشاهُyou fear it دَعوَةُa summons هاتِفٍan unseen caller
وَأَعجَبُ ما تَخشاهُ دَعوَةُ هاتِفٍ
أَتَيتُمyou have arrived فَهُبّواso arise يانِيامُO sleepers إِلىto الحَشرِthe resurrection gathering
أَتَيتُم فَهُبّوا يانِيامُ إِلى الحَشرِ
And the strangest thing you fear is an unseen caller's summons:
Most wondrous is the call of a summoner I fear:
You have arrived! Arise, O sleepers, to the resurrection gathering!
"You have come, so rally, O slumbering, to the assembly."
فَياso, oh لَيتَناif only we عِشناwe lived حَياةًa life بِلاwithout رَدىًdeath
فَيا لَيتَنا عِشنا حَياةً بِلا رَدىً
يَدَthroughout الدَهرِall time أَوor مُتناwe died مَماتاًa death بِلاwithout نَشرِresurrection
يَدَ الدَهرِ أَو مُتنا مَماتاً بِلا نَشرِ
So, if only we could live a life without death,
Would that we had lived a life without misery,
for all time—or die a death without resurrection.
By the hand of fate, or died a death without agony.
Sol 6.1