وَما لُطفُ النّسيمِ سِوى الكتاب

وَما لُطفُ النّسيمِ سِوى الكتاب

وَقَولي لَم يَكُن إِلّا حَقيقا

وَقَولي لَم يَكُن إِلّا حَقيقا

The breeze’s gentleness exists only in writing,

And the breeze’s gentleness is nothing but the book;

And my words could only be true:

And what I said was nothing but true.

فَلَو مَرّ النّسيمُ عَلى حَبيبي

فَلَو مَرّ النّسيمُ عَلى حَبيبي

لَمن لُطفِ الحَبيبِ غَدا رَقيقا

لَمن لُطفِ الحَبيبِ غَدا رَقيقا

For if the breeze were to pass over my beloved,

For if the breeze passed over my beloved,

Then, from my beloved’s gentleness, it would grow tender.

It would surely grow tender from the beloved’s gentleness.