سقيت بكأسٍ للمنُونِ دِهَاقِ

فكأنها عَلمت بيَوم فِرَاقي

I gave a cup to the afflicted ones in grief

As if it knew of the day of my departure

أهُرَيرتِي أوَ مَأ عِلمتِ بأنَّ سه

مَ البينِ يُضنِي مُهجَةَ المشتَاق

My thrush, or did you know that separation

From the beloved afflicts the heart of the ardent lover

للهِ ذيَاكَ العُنَيقُ المُلتوِي

سُبحانَ ربِّي الحُسن في الأعنَاقِ

By God, that twisting neck

Glory be to my Lord, beautiful are the necks

قد زادَ حُسنك فتنةً وحلاوةً

أو ليسَ سِرُّ الحُسن في الأعناقِ

Your beauty has increased allure and sweetness

Or isn't the secret of beauty in the necks?

هيهَات بَعد آرَاكِ مُقبلةً علىَّ

بهِ فمَا بعدَ الحمَام تلاَقِ

Alas, after seeing you turning to me

With it, nothing comes after pigeons billing

كَم غَضبِةٍ منِّي رأيتِ ونَهَرةٍ

فَيعُودُ منكِ الرأسُ في إطرَاقِ

How many angry looks I saw from you and rebukes

Then your head would sway in apathy

وتُرَدِّدينَه مِن مُواءٍ ناطقٍ

بنَغائِم التَّحنَانِ والأشوَاقِ

And you echo it with an eloquent cooing

With the melodies of affection and passions

والأُمُّ أُمُّكِ يا هُريرُ حزينةٌ

تَرنُو إليكِ بنَظرَةِ الإشفَاقِ

And mother, your mother is sad

Yearning for you with a look of compassion

ما ضَرَّنِي إلا ابتعادُك حِقبةً

عنِّي لسُقمٍ ما لَه مِن وَاقِ

Nothing hurt me but your long absence from me

For an illness that has no cure