كَتَبْتُI wrote وشَوْقِيَand my longing يُملِيdictates أسىًsorrow
كَتَبْتُ وشَوْقِيَ يُملِي أسىً
سَريرةَa secret حُبٍّlove وَشاهاembroidered it الجَلَمْthe shears
سَريرةَ حُبٍّ وَشاها الجَلَمْ
I wrote, while my longing dictated sorrow,
I wrote while my longing dictated sadness,
a secret of love embroidered by the shears.
A secret of love though silence was great,
ولوand had رُمْتُI sought خَطّاًwriting لَهاfor it بِسِواهُwith something other than it
ولو رُمْتُ خَطّاً لَها بِسِواهُ
تَلهَّبَwould have blazed بينَbetween يَدَيَّmy two hands القَلَمْthe pen
تَلهَّبَ بينَ يَدَيَّ القَلَمْ
And had I sought to write it with anything else,
Had I made for her a line other than it,
the pen would have blazed between my hands.
The pen would have blazed between my hands
Sol 6.1