وخافِتِ الْحِسّ ما لَه جَسدُ

وخافِتِ الْحِسّ ما لَه جَسدُ

مِمّا بَرَاه الضَّنَى ولا جَلَدُ

مِمّا بَرَاه الضَّنَى ولا جَلَدُ

And one with dulled senses has no body left,

Of faded passion he has no body left,

worn away by wasting sickness, and no endurance.

No refuge from the grief, no shield,

خطّت يَدُ السقمِ فوقَ صَفحَتِه

خطّت يَدُ السقمِ فوقَ صَفحَتِه

ما ليسَ يُعنى بفَهمِه أحَدُ

ما ليسَ يُعنى بفَهمِه أحَدُ

The hand of sickness has written upon his face

The hand of illness wrote upon his page,

what no one cares to understand.

What no one understands through intellect,

هَذَا قَتيلُ الهَوَى فلا ديةٌ

هَذَا قَتيلُ الهَوَى فلا ديةٌ

تُؤْخَذُ في قتلِه وَلا قَوَدُ

تُؤْخَذُ في قتلِه وَلا قَوَدُ

This is one slain by love, so no blood money

This is a martyr of love, no blood-money taken,

is exacted for his killing, nor a life in retaliation.

For his death, no retribution, no penalty.