إِذاwhen ريحُwind الصَباthe east wind هَبَّتblew أَصيلاًin the late afternoon
إِذا ريحُ الصَبا هَبَّت أَصيلاً
شَفَتit healed بِهُبوبِهاwith its blowing قَلباًa heart عَليلاailing
شَفَت بِهُبوبِها قَلباً عَليلا
When the east wind blows at evening,
When the morning breeze blows gently,
It heals an ailing heart with its breath,
It revives my sickly heart with its blowing.
وَجاءَتنيand it came to me تُخَبِّرُtelling أَنَّthat قَوميmy people
وَجاءَتني تُخَبِّرُ أَنَّ قَومي
بِمَنwith the one whom أَهواهُI love him قَدalready جَدّواthey hastened الرَحيلاthe departure
بِمَن أَهواهُ قَد جَدّوا الرَحيلا
And comes to tell me that my people
And it comes to me bearing news
Have hastened their departure with the one I love.
That my people have set out with my beloved.
وَماand not حَنّواthey felt compassion عَلىfor مَنthe one whom خَلَّفوهُthey left him behind
وَما حَنّوا عَلى مَن خَلَّفوهُ
بِواديin the valley of الرَملِsand مُنطَرِحاًcast down جَديلاprostrate
بِوادي الرَملِ مُنطَرِحاً جَديلا
And they felt no pity for the one they left behind
They did not grieve for the one they left behind
In the valley of sand, cast down and prostrate.
In the valley's sand, cast down and covered in dust.
يَحِنُّhe yearns صَبابَةًwith ardent longing وَيَهيمُand is love-crazed وَجداًwith passion
يَحِنُّ صَبابَةً وَيَهيمُ وَجداً
إِلَيهِمُtoward them كُلَّماwhenever ساقواthey drove الحُمولاthe laden camels
إِلَيهِمُ كُلَّما ساقوا الحُمولا
He yearns with passion and is crazed with longing
Who sighs bitterly and is consumed with passion for them
For them whenever they drive the laden camels on.
Whenever they move on their camels.
أَلاah ياO عَبلَAbla إِنif خانواthey betrayed عُهوديmy covenants
أَلا يا عَبلَ إِن خانوا عُهودي
وَكانَand was أَبوكِyour father لاnot يَرعىhonors الجَميلاkindness
وَكانَ أَبوكِ لا يَرعى الجَميلا
Ah, Abla, if they have broken faith with me,
Oh Abala, though they betrayed my vows
And your father showed no regard for kindness,
Your father does not tend to kindness.
حَمَلتُI bore الضَيمَinjustice وَالهِجرانَand abandonment جُهديto my utmost
حَمَلتُ الضَيمَ وَالهِجرانَ جُهدي
عَلىdespite رَغميmy unwillingness وَخالَفتُand I defied العَذولاthe reproacher
عَلى رَغمي وَخالَفتُ العَذولا
I bore injustice and abandonment as best I could,
I have borne injustice and estrangement with all my strength
Against my will, and defied the reproacher.
Despite myself, though it goes against my nature.
عَرَكتُI wrestled with نَوائِبَthe calamities of الأَيّامِthe days حَتّىuntil
عَرَكتُ نَوائِبَ الأَيّامِ حَتّى
رَأَيتُI saw كَثيرَهاtheir multitude عِنديto me قَليلاlittle
رَأَيتُ كَثيرَها عِندي قَليلا
I wrestled with the calamities of time until
I have weathered the blows of fate until
Their multitude seemed small to me.
Many seemed to me too few.
وَعادانيand was hostile to me غُرابُthe raven of البَينِparting حَتّىto the point that
وَعاداني غُرابُ البَينِ حَتّى
كَأَنّيas though I قَدalready قَتَلتُI killed لَهُbelonging to it قَتيلاa slain person
كَأَنّي قَد قَتَلتُ لَهُ قَتيلا
And the raven of parting grew so hostile to me
The raven of separation returned to me until
It was as though I had slain one of its own.
It was as if I had killed its nestling.
وَقَدand indeed غَنّىsang عَلىupon الأَغصانِthe branches طَيرٌa bird
وَقَد غَنّى عَلى الأَغصانِ طَيرٌ
بِصَوتِwith the sound of حَنينِهِits yearning يَشفيheals الغَليلاthe burning thirst
بِصَوتِ حَنينِهِ يَشفي الغَليلا
And a bird sang upon the branches,
A bird sang in the branches
With its yearning voice, soothing the burning thirst.
With a voice of yearning to heal the sick heart.
بَكىit wept فَأَعَرتُهُso I lent it أَجفانَthe eyelids of عَينيmy eye
بَكى فَأَعَرتُهُ أَجفانَ عَيني
وَناحَand it lamented فَزادَso it added إِعواليmy lamentation عَويلاwailing
وَناحَ فَزادَ إِعوالي عَويلا
It wept, so I lent it my eyelids,
It wept and I lent it my eyes,
And it lamented, adding wailing to my lament.
Its crying redoubled my weeping.
فَقُلتُso I said لَهُto it جَرَحتَyou wounded صَميمَthe core of قَلبيmy heart
فَقُلتُ لَهُ جَرَحتَ صَميمَ قَلبي
وَأَبدىand revealed نَوحُكَyour lament الداءَthe illness الدَخيلاdeep-seated
وَأَبدى نَوحُكَ الداءَ الدَخيلا
So I said to it: You have wounded the core of my heart,
I said to it “You have wounded my heart
And your lament has revealed the deep-seated illness.
And your wailing revealed the lurking disease.
وَماand not أَبقَيتَyou left فيin جَفنيmy eyelid دُموعاًtears
وَما أَبقَيتَ في جَفني دُموعاً
وَلاnor جِسماًa body أَعيشُI live بِهِwith it نَحيلاwasted
وَلا جِسماً أَعيشُ بِهِ نَحيلا
And you have left no tears in my eyelid,
You left me no tears in my eyes
Nor a wasted body for me to live in.
Nor a body to live in, wasted and weak.
وَلاnor أَبقىleft لِيَfor me الهِجرانُabandonment صَبراًpatience
وَلا أَبقى لِيَ الهِجرانُ صَبراً
لِكَيso that أَلقىI may face المَنازِلَthe dwellings وَالطُلولاand the ruins
لِكَي أَلقى المَنازِلَ وَالطُلولا
Nor has abandonment left me patience
Estrangement leaves me no patience
To face the dwellings and the ruins.
To seek the places and traces.
أَلِفتُI grew accustomed to السُقمَsickness حَتّىuntil صارَbecame جِسميmy body
أَلِفتُ السُقمَ حَتّى صارَ جِسمي
إِذاwhenever فَقَدَit lost الضَنىwasting sickness أَمسىbecame عَليلاill
إِذا فَقَدَ الضَنى أَمسى عَليلا
I grew so accustomed to sickness that my body
I grew used to sickness until my body
Falls ill whenever it loses its wasting sickness.
When missing grief fell ill.
وَلَوand if أَنّيthat I كَشَفتُI removed الدَرعَthe armor عَنّيfrom me
وَلَو أَنّي كَشَفتُ الدَرعَ عَنّي
رَأَيتَyou would see وَرائَهُbehind it رَسماًa remnant مُحيلاwasted
رَأَيتَ وَرائَهُ رَسماً مُحيلا
And were I to strip off my armor,
Had I removed the armor from myself
You would see behind it a wasted remnant.
You would have seen behind it a dreadful form.
وَفيand in الرَسمِthe remnant المُحيلِwasted حُسامُa keen sword of نَفسٍa soul
وَفي الرَسمِ المُحيلِ حُسامُ نَفسٍ
يُقَلِّلُmakes seem slight حَدُّهُits edge السَيفَthe sword الصَقيلاpolished
يُقَلِّلُ حَدُّهُ السَيفَ الصَقيلا
And in that wasted remnant is a soul's keen sword,
In that dreadful form is the sword of a soul
Whose edge makes the polished sword seem slight.
Whose edge makes even polished swords seem dull.”
Sol 6.1