أَساكِنُO dweller قَلبيmy heart لاmay you not بَلَيتَbe afflicted بِوَجدِهِwith its anguish
أَساكِنُ قَلبي لا بَلَيتَ بِوَجدِهِ
سَلَبتَyou stole الكَرىsleep فَاِمنُنso graciously grant عَليupon me مَرَدِّهِits return
سَلَبتَ الكَرى فَاِمنُن عَلي مَرَدِّهِ
O dweller in my heart, may you never suffer its anguish.
The dwellings of my heart did not suffer from his passion
You stole sleep; grant me the favor of its return.
You stole steadfastness, so oblige me with its return
مَتىwhen يَقنَعُis satisfied الظَمآنُthe thirsty one مِنكَby you غَليلُهُhis burning thirst
مَتى يَقنَعُ الظَمآنُ مِنكَ غَليلُهُ
إِذاwhen كانَis ماءُthe water الدَمعِof tears أَعذَبُthe sweetest وردِهِhis drinking-water
إِذا كانَ ماءُ الدَمعِ أَعذَبُ وردِهِ
When will the thirsty one's burning thirst be quenched by you,
When will the thirsty one be quenched by your little drink
When the water of tears is his sweetest drink?
If the water of tears is the sweetest rose water
بِروحيwith my soul as ransom مَجبولٌinnately disposed عَلىto الهَجرِestrangement وَالقِلاand aversion
بِروحي مَجبولٌ عَلى الهَجرِ وَالقِلا
أَرىI find المَوتَdeath أَحلىsweeter مِنthan تَجَرُّعِgulping down صَدِّهِhis rejection
أَرى المَوتَ أَحلى مِن تَجَرُّعِ صَدِّهِ
My soul be ransom for one fashioned to shun and scorn;
Molded into my soul are estrangement and pining
I find death sweeter than drinking down his rejection.
I find death sweeter than sipping its rejection
أُدانيهِI draw near to him بِالشَكوىwith complaint فَيَبعُدُthen he withdraws قَسوَةًout of cruelty
أُدانيهِ بِالشَكوى فَيَبعُدُ قَسوَةً
وَماand not المَوتُdeath إِلّاexcept مِنfrom دُنُوّيmy drawing near وَبُعدِهِand his distance
وَما المَوتُ إِلّا مِن دُنُوّي وَبُعدِهِ
I draw near to him with complaints, and he cruelly draws away.
I approach him with complaints, so he distances harshly
And death comes only of my nearness and his distance.
Yet death is but a coming close and its removal
أُحِبُّI love التِفاتَthe turning الظَبيِof the gazelle حُبّاًout of love لِجيدِهِfor his neck
أُحِبُّ التِفاتَ الظَبيِ حُبّاً لِجيدِهِ
وَأَعشَقُand I adore ُصنَbranch (text unclear) البانِof the bān tree عِشقاًout of passion لِقَدِّهِfor his stature
وَأَعشَقُ ُصنَ البانِ عِشقاً لِقَدِّهِ
I love the gazelle's turn, for love of his neck;
I love the gazelle’s glance for her neck’s beauty
And I adore the bān-tree's branch, for love of his stature.
And crave the hour’s shape for its slimness
وَلَولاهُand were it not for him لَمnot اَرضَI would accept الهَوانhumiliation لِمُهجَتيfor my soul
وَلَولاهُ لَم اَرضَ الهَوان لِمُهجَتي
وَلاnor جازَexceeded وَجديmy passion فيهِfor him غايَةُthe utmost حَدِّهِof its limit
وَلا جازَ وَجدي فيهِ غايَةُ حَدِّهِ
Were it not for him, I would not accept humiliation for my soul,
Were it not for him, I would not accept disgrace for my love
Nor would my passion for him have passed its utmost bound.
Nor would my passion for him exceed its extent
أُعاذِلَO reproacher لَوif أَنصَفَتنيyou treated me fairly كُنتُI would have been عاذِراًforgiving
أُعاذِلَ لَو أَنصَفَتني كُنتُ عاذِراً
إِلامَuntil when وَقَدand already دَبَّcrept الغِدارُcheek-down (text unclear) بِخَدِّهِon his cheek
إِلامَ وَقَد دَبَّ الغِدارُ بِخَدِّهِ
O reproacher, had you treated me fairly, I would have been forgiving.
I would pardon him if he were equitable, yet I was pardoning
How long will you blame me, now that cheek-down has crept over his cheek?
But betrayal crept into his cheek
تَأَمَّلcontemplate إِلىat رَيحانِهِhis basil كَيفَhow قَدalready بَداappeared
تَأَمَّل إِلى رَيحانِهِ كَيفَ قَد بَدا
يَمُدُّit stretches سِياجاًa fence أَخضَراًgreen حَولَaround وَردِهِhis rose
يَمُدُّ سِياجاً أَخضَراً حَولَ وَردِهِ
Look at his basil, how it has appeared,
Look how the basil’s greenery surrounds its blossoms
Stretching a green fence around his rose.
Extending a green fence around its roses
إِلَيكَleave me be فَماfor ... not قَلبيmy heart بِأَوَّلِthe first مَنone who رَأىhas seen
إِلَيكَ فَما قَلبي بِأَوَّلِ مَن رَأى
ضَلالَتُهُits straying فيin الحُبِّlove مَنهَجُthe path رُشدِهِof its right guidance
ضَلالَتُهُ في الحُبِّ مَنهَجُ رُشدِهِ
Leave me be, for my heart is not the first to see
To you, my heart was not the first to see
Its straying in love as the path to its own right guidance.
Its misguidance in love, the path of its righteousness
نَشَدتُكِI implore you ياO ريحَwind of الشِمالِthe north تَحَمَّليcarry
نَشَدتُكِ يا ريحَ الشِمالِ تَحَمَّلي
شِكايَةَthe complaint مَنone whose شَكواهُhis lament غايَةُthe utmost جُهدِهِof his effort
شِكايَةَ مَن شَكواهُ غايَةُ جُهدِهِ
I implore you, O north wind, carry
I implored you, O north wind, bear
The complaint of one whose lament is his utmost effort,
The plight of one whose effort has reached its extremity
خَفوقاًfluttering إِلىtoward ظِلِّthe shade الغُوَيرِal-Ghuwayr فُؤادُهُhis heart
خَفوقاً إِلى ظِلِّ الغُوَيرِ فُؤادُهُ
مَشوقاًyearning إِلىfor ماءwater of العُذيبِal-ʿUdhayb وَرَندِهِand its laurels
مَشوقاً إِلى ماء العُذيبِ وَرَندِهِ
His heart fluttering toward al-Ghuwayr's shade,
To the shadow of distances, his heart flutters
Yearning for al-ʿUdhayb's water and its laurels.
Yearning for fresh water and its coolness
تَناءىhe grew distant فَلاso neither صَبريmy patience الجَميلُnoble لِبَينِهِat his parting
تَناءى فَلا صَبري الجَميلُ لِبَينِهِ
وَجَدَّwas found (contextual reading) وَلاnor قَلبيmy heart الجَليدُsteadfast لِفَقدِهِat his loss
وَجَدَّ وَلا قَلبي الجَليدُ لِفَقدِهِ
He went far away; neither my noble patience at his parting
It calls him, yet my patience is not beautiful without him
Was to be found, nor my steadfast heart at his loss.
And my frigid heart pines for his loss
وَلَوand if أَنَّthat طَرفيmy eye مُسعِديmy helper قلتI would have said بَعدهafter him
وَلَو أَنَّ طَرفي مُسعِدي قلت بَعده
وَفىkept faith ليto me طَرفيmy eye يَومَthe day بانَhe departed بِوَعدِهِwith its promise
وَفى لي طَرفي يَومَ بانَ بِوَعدِهِ
And had my eye been my helper, I would have said after his departure:
If after him my eye found happiness, it would say
'My eye kept its promise to me the day he departed.'
My eye sufficed me the day his promise came true
أَياO سَقَميmy sickness أَعداكَinfected you رِقَّةُthe slenderness خَصرِهِof his waist
أَيا سَقَمي أَعداكَ رِقَّةُ خَصرِهِ
وَياand O جَلَديmy endurance أَوهاكَweakened you عقدةthe knot بَندِهِof his sash
وَيا جَلَدي أَوهاكَ عقدة بَندِهِ
O my sickness, his waist's slenderness has infected you;
Oh my sickness, his delicate waist weakened you
And O my endurance, the knot of his sash has weakened you.
And my skin, his tied knot has pained you
مَليحٌa handsome one بَراهُfashioned him اللَهُGod أَحسَنَthe fairest مَنthose whom تَرىyou see
مَليحٌ بَراهُ اللَهُ أَحسَنَ مَن تَرى
تَفَرَّدَhe was peerless حُسناًin beauty وَاِنفَرَدتُand I stood alone بِصَدِّهِin his rejection
تَفَرَّدَ حُسناً وَاِنفَرَدتُ بِصَدِّهِ
A beauty whom God fashioned as the fairest you can see;
Fair is he whom God made best of all people
He is peerless in beauty, and I alone endure his rejection.
He is uniquely beautiful, and I uniquely spurned
أَميرُa prince جَمالٍof beauty ماnot حُظيتُI was favored بِعَدلِهِwith his justice
أَميرُ جَمالٍ ما حُظيتُ بِعَدلِهِ
وَحُلوُand sweet رُضابٍin saliva ماnot اِنتَفَعتُI benefited بِشَهدِهِfrom his honey
وَحُلوُ رُضابٍ ما اِنتَفَعتُ بِشَهدِهِ
A prince of beauty whose justice I have never enjoyed,
The prince of beauty whose justice I did not obtain
And sweet of saliva, yet I have never savored his honey.
The sweet of gaze whose honey did not benefit me
إِلىto اللَهِGod أَشكوI complain of جائِرَone unjust in الصَدِّrejection مُعرِضاًturning away
إِلى اللَهِ أَشكو جائِرَ الصَدِّ مُعرِضاً
يُمازِجُhe mingles هَزلَthe jest الهَجرِof estrangement مِنهُfrom him بِجِدِّهِwith its seriousness
يُمازِجُ هَزلَ الهَجرِ مِنهُ بِجِدِّهِ
To God I complain of the unjust rejecter who turns away,
To God I complain of the unjust one turning away
Mingling his playful estrangement with its seriousness.
Mixing playful estrangement with his seriousness
مِنَof التُركِthe Turks لَوif عايَنتَyou beheld ذُلّيmy abasement وَعِزَّهُand his might
مِنَ التُركِ لَو عايَنتَ ذُلّي وَعِزَّهُ
لَعايَنتَyou would surely behold مَولىًa master لاnot يَرِقُّhas compassion لِعَبدِهِfor his slave
لَعايَنتَ مَولىً لا يَرِقُّ لِعَبدِهِ
He is of the Turks; if you beheld my abasement and his might,
If you saw my humiliation and his dignity
You would behold a master who has no pity for his slave.
You would see a master who does not pity his slave
إِذاwhen سَلَّhe unsheathes سَيفَthe sword الغَنجِof coquetry مِنfrom لَحَظاتِهِhis glances
إِذا سَلَّ سَيفَ الغَنجِ مِن لَحَظاتِهِ
يُرينيhe shows me حَتفاًdeath كامِناًlurking فيin فَرنَدِهِits blade's pattern
يُريني حَتفاً كامِناً في فَرنَدِهِ
When he unsheathes the sword of coquetry from his glances,
When the sword of his glances unsheathes
He shows me death lurking in the pattern of its blade.
It shows me a hidden death in its scabbard
أَقلُّthe least غَراميof my passion فيهِfor him ماthat which المَوتُdeath دونَهُfalls short of it
أَقلُّ غَرامي فيهِ ما المَوتُ دونَهُ
فَلِلَهِso, by God! صَبُّa passionate lover حَتفُهُhis death بَعضُa part وَجدِهِof his passion
فَلِلَهِ صَبُّ حَتفُهُ بَعضُ وَجدِهِ
Even the least of my passion for him surpasses death.
The least of my passion for him is what death is beneath
So, by God, what a lover—his death is but a part of his passion!
So my heart pours towards some of his fervor
Sol 6.1