رسولَ الهوى بلِّغْ سلامي الى سلمى
وعاطِ حُمَيّا ثغرها الباسمِ الألمى
O messenger of love, convey my greetings to Salma
Messenger of passion, convey my greetings to Salma,
And kiss her smiling lips that cause me such pain
And partake of the intoxicating wine of her smiling, dark-red lips,
وناجِ هواها، علَّ في الغيب رحمةً
تدارك هذا القلب، أن ينقضي همّا
And confide my passion to her, perhaps mercy
And whisper to her love; perhaps in the unseen lies a mercy
Will spare this heart from shattering into pieces
That might rescue this heart before it perishes from grief.
وبُثَّ شكاةً من مشوقٍ متيَّمٍ
له كبدٌ حرَّى تضيق به غمّا
And tell her of my yearning that eats away
And pour forth a complaint from one yearning and enslaved,
At a heart heavy with sadness and grief
Whose burning vitals are constricted by distress.
فكم تحت هذا القلب من لاعج الجوى!
وكم بين هذا الجسم من أضلع كلمى!
How much anguish lies beneath this heart!
For how much burning passion lies beneath this heart!
How many ribs lie between this body, broken!
And how many wounded ribs lie within this body!
وكم بين أستار الدجى من مدامعٍ
تكاد من الآلام أن تشرق الظلما!
How many tears in the darkness of night
And how many tears flow amidst the veils of darkness,
Almost shine from the pain, piercing the gloom
Which, from sheer pain, nearly illuminate the gloom!
وكم بين طيات الأثير من الأسى
يكاد صدى أناته يسمع الصُّمّا!
And how much sorrow in the folds of the air
And how much sorrow dwells within the folds of the ether,
Its moans almost heard by the deaf as well!
The echo of its groans nearly making the deaf hear!
فيا أيها البينُ المحضُّ صبابةً
ويا أيها الدهر المسيء بنا حكما
O you who keep us apart, have mercy
O separation that is nothing but pure longing,
O you who destine us, be kind in your decree
And O Time, so unjust in your judgment of us,
ويا أيها القلب الخفوق كأنه
جناح حمامٍ خال منه الردى أمّا
O you fluttering heart, as if it were
And O throbbing heart, beating as though it were
A dove stripped of tranquility, without peace
The wing of a dove that death has narrowly missed,
ويا كبدي الحرَّى ويا مهجتي التي
تسيل مع الأيام من لوعتي سقما
O my burning liver, o my inflamed stomach
O my burning vitals, and O my lifeblood which
Flowing with torment each day without rest
Drains away with the passing days, sickened by my anguish,
هل القربُ مكتوبٌ؟ هل الدهر باسمٌ؟
هل البرء مقدورٌ مرجّى لنا يوما؟
Is being close our fate? Is time our friend?
Is nearness written? Is fate smiling?
Can we hope for relief and joy someday?
Is a cure ordained, to be hoped for by us one day?
هل الوصل موفورٌ؟ هل الصَّدُّ لائحٌ؟
هل العيشُ مغبوطٌ تلذُّ به النعما؟
Is union assured? Does separation loom?
Is reunion attainable? Is rejection looming?
Is life blissful? Can we delight in bounty?
Is an enviable life within reach, wherein blessings bring delight?
