ما لِلسُّهَى بادِي النّحولِ كأنّهُ

ما لِلسُّهَى بادِي النّحولِ كأنّهُ

مُتَسَتِّرٌ تبْدو مَخايِلُ خوْفِهِ

مُتَسَتِّرٌ تبْدو مَخايِلُ خوْفِهِ

What ails al-Suha, so visibly wasted, as though he were

What ails the lean boy, looking around in fear

Hiding himself, while signs of his fear appear?

As though some phantom he sees drawing near?

أتَراهُ يشْكو قُلْتُ هَذا مُمْكِنٌ

أتَراهُ يشْكو قُلْتُ هَذا مُمْكِنٌ

واللهُ يعْلَمُ داؤهُ من جوْفِه

واللهُ يعْلَمُ داؤهُ من جوْفِه

Do you think he suffers? I said, “That is possible,”

I wonder, does he suffer? I said maybe so-

And God knows—his ailment comes from within him.

But God alone knows what is his woe.