عَلَيَّupon me أَلِيَّةٌan oath عَتُقَتhas grown old قَديماًlong ago
عَلَيَّ أَلِيَّةٌ عَتُقَت قَديماً
فَلَيسَso there is no لَهاfor it وَإِنand even if طُلِبَتit is sought مَرامُa way to breach it
فَلَيسَ لَها وَإِن طُلِبَت مَرامُ
An oath binds me, grown ancient long ago;
I am free, long ago unbound,
there is no way to break it, however one may try:
And roam where I please, my will is my own.
بِأَنَّto the effect that الغَدرَtreachery قَدalready عَلِمَتhas learned مَعَدٌّMaʿadd
بِأَنَّ الغَدرَ قَد عَلِمَت مَعَدٌّ
عَلَيَّto me وَجارَتيand my female neighbor مِنّيfrom me حَرامُforbidden
عَلَيَّ وَجارَتي مِنّي حَرامُ
that treachery, as Maʿadd well knows,
Betrayal I've learned is the wont of a friend,
is forbidden to me, and so is my female neighbor.
On me or my neighbor no evil descend.
وَلَيسَand there is not بِطارِقِa night visitor to الجاراتِthe female neighbors مِنّيfrom me
وَلَيسَ بِطارِقِ الجاراتِ مِنّي
ذُبابٌa fly لاnot يُنيمُlets others sleep وَلاand does not يَنامُsleeps
ذُبابٌ لا يُنيمُ وَلا يَنامُ
Nor does a night caller of mine visit neighboring women—
I tap not at night on a neighbor's door,
a fly that lets none sleep and never sleeps.
Disturbing their peace with my clatter and roar.
وَلَستُand I am not بِأَطلَسِa shabby-clad man الثَوبَينِthe two garments يُصبيhe entices
وَلَستُ بِأَطلَسِ الثَوبَينِ يُصبي
حَليلَتَهُhis wife إِذاwhen هَجَعَfell asleep النِيامُthe sleepers
حَليلَتَهُ إِذا هَجَعَ النِيامُ
Nor am I a man in two shabby garments who entices
No patchwork cloak have I, shabby and worn,
his wife when the sleepers have fallen asleep.
That shamelessly hangs tattered and torn.
يُقَرِّعُhe rebukes لِلرِجالِto the men إِذاwhen أَتَوهُthey come to him
يُقَرِّعُ لِلرِجالِ إِذا أَتَوهُ
وَلِلنِسوانِand for the women إِنif جِئنَthey (women) come السَلامُthe greeting of peace
وَلِلنِسوانِ إِن جِئنَ السَلامُ
He rebukes men when they come to him,
I court not the women nor carouse with the men,
but for women, if they come, there is a greeting of peace.
But peaceably live and leave strangers their ken.
وَلَستُand I am not بِخابِئٍone who hides away أَبَداًever طَعاماًfood
وَلَستُ بِخابِئٍ أَبَداً طَعاماً
حِذارَfor fear of غَدٍtomorrow لِكُلِّfor every غَدٍtomorrow طَعامُfood
حِذارَ غَدٍ لِكُلِّ غَدٍ طَعامُ
Nor do I ever hide food away
I hoard not my food, for each new day anew,
for fear of tomorrow: every tomorrow has food.
Provides me my fill, as I trust it to do.
Sol 6.1