عَلَىover شَبَابِكِyour youth يُبْكَىis wept over
عَلَى شَبَابِكِ يُبْكَى
يَاO حُرَّةًfreeborn woman يَاO نَبِيلَهْnoble woman
يَا حُرَّةً يَا نَبِيلَهْ
Your youth is wept over,
On your youth is wept
O freeborn woman, O noble one!
O free woman, O noble
أَفِيis it in التُّرَابِthe dust تُوَارَىare buried
أَفِي التُّرَابِ تُوَارَى
تِلْكَthose المَعانِيqualities الجمِيلَهْbeautiful
تِلْكَ المَعانِي الجمِيلَهْ
Are they buried in the dust—
Does the dust conceal
Those beautiful qualities?
Those beautiful meanings
حُسْنٌbeauty تَوَلَّىdeparted وَأَبْقَىand left behind
حُسْنٌ تَوَلَّى وَأَبْقَى
عَنْهُof it رُسُوماًtraces مَحِيلَهْfaded
عَنْهُ رُسُوماً مَحِيلَهْ
Beauty departed and left behind
Beauty has turned away, leaving
Faded traces of itself.
Traces it made exquisite
جُهْدُutmost degree الأَسَىgrief أَنْthat تَغِيبِيyou are gone
جُهْدُ الأَسَى أَنْ تَغِيبِي
وَمَاand no لِعَوْدٍfor a return وَسِيلَهْmeans
وَمَا لِعَوْدٍ وَسِيلَهْ
The height of grief is that you are gone,
The toil of grief that you disappear
And there is no means of return.
A wanderer has no way back
نَأْسَىwe grieve وَنَيْأَسُand we despair حُزْناًin sorrow
نَأْسَى وَنَيْأَسُ حُزْناً
وَلَيْسَand there is no فِيin اليَدِthe hand حِيلَهْrecourse
وَلَيْسَ فِي اليَدِ حِيلَهْ
We grieve and despair in sorrow,
We grieve and despair in sorrow
And no recourse is at hand.
With no trick up our sleeves
Sol 6.1