أيَا مَنْ لَامَ في الحُبِّ

أيَا مَنْ لَامَ في الحُبِّ

وَلَمْ يَعْلَمْ جَوى قَلبي

وَلَمْ يَعْلَمْ جَوى قَلبي

O you who reproached me for love,

O you who blamed me for love

and did not know my heart's anguish:

And knew not the fervor of my heart

مَلامُ الصَّبِّ يُغْويهِ

مَلامُ الصَّبِّ يُغْويهِ

وَلا أَغْوى مِنَ الْقَلْبِ

وَلا أَغْوى مِنَ الْقَلْبِ

Reproaching the lovesick leads him astray,

The censurer is misled by passion

and nothing is more wayward than the heart.

I am not misled by the heart

فَأَنَّى لُمْتَ في هِنْدٍ

فَأَنَّى لُمْتَ في هِنْدٍ

مُحِبّاً صَادِقَ الحُبِّ

مُحِبّاً صَادِقَ الحُبِّ

How, then, could you blame, for loving Hind,

Whence did you blame me for love

a lover sincere in love?

While in India, a true lover

وَهِنْدٌ مَا لَها شِبْهٌ

وَهِنْدٌ مَا لَها شِبْهٌ

بِشَرْقٍ لا وَلا غَرْبِ

بِشَرْقٍ لا وَلا غَرْبِ

And Hind has no equal,

For India is nothing like

in the East—no, nor in the West.

The East or even the West

إِلى هِنْدٍ صَبَا قَلْبي

إِلى هِنْدٍ صَبَا قَلْبي

وَهِنْدٌ مِثْلُها يُصْبِي

وَهِنْدٌ مِثْلُها يُصْبِي

My heart fell in love with Hind,

To India my heart inclines

and Hind—one like her makes hearts fall in love.

And India is where it inclines