يا مَن بِهِ عاشَ مَيتُ ذِكرى

وَمَن إِلَيهِ رُجوعُ أَمري

O you through whom the dead lived in memory

And to whom my affairs shall return

عِندي اَخٌ كُلَّما دَعاني

بالَغَ في خِدمَتي وَبِرّي

I have a brother, whenever he calls me

He is extremely dutiful and kind to me

وَلَيسَ عِندي سِوى قَوافٍ

أَبذُلُها مِن دِنانِ فِكري

And I have nothing to offer except rhymes

That flow from my mind’s coins

بَينَ تَحايا مِنَ المَعاني

قَد أَشرَقَت في صُدورِ شِعري

Among greetings laden with meanings

That shone in the breasts of my poetry

فَإِن تَدارَكَتني بِراحٍ

تُريحُني مِن عَذابِ سِرّي

So if you relieve me with some comfort

That would ease me of my secret torment

حَبَستُ ما لي عَلَيكَ مِمّا

مَلَكتُ مِن مُستَغَلِّ شُكري

I have held back what I owe you

Of my exploited gratitude’s possession