شكا العُودُ بالأوتار شجوا فأطربا

وتَرْجَمَ عن معنى الضمير فأَعْرَبا

The lute complained to the strings with yearning, so they were enraptured,

And translated the meaning of the conscience, so they were eloquent.

فم أَرَ شَاكٍ مثلَه بثَّ شجوَه

فأفرحَ محزوناً وفكّ مُعَذَّبا

My mouth has not seen one who complains like it, spreading its lament,

To gladden the sorrowful and release the tortured.

خُذي الكَأسَ يا مظلومة الخَدِّ مُتْرعاً

ومُدي به نحوي بَنَاناً مُخْضَّبا

Take the cup, O downtrodden of cheek, drawing sustenance,

And bring it to me, your structure bloodied.

فإنّي سبقتُ الدهر للمَجد والعُلا

وسُدْتُ جميعَ الناس شَرْقا ومَغْربا

For I have outstripped Time in glory and supremacy,

And surpassed all people, East and West.

وما ذاك إلاّ أنّني بسعادتي

غدوتُ قريباً من مَعَدٍّ مُقَرَّبا

That is only because, with my happiness,

I have become close to the All-Merciful, brought near.

عِذابٌ كماء الغَيْثِ عذْبٌ مَذَاقُه

وتارك ما لاقاه ريَّانَ مُعْشبا

Torture is the water of rain in taste, sweetness its savor,

Leaving what it touches irrigated, greened.