يا جابرَ العثراتِ يكْفي لا تَزِدْ

فبناتُ صَدرِك في الحنايا تحتشِدْ

O He who mends stumbles, enough, do not increase

For the daughters of your breast gather in the folds

كَثُرَ الشُّكَاةُ وأنتَ تُطْرِقُ سامعاً

تَطْوي شَكاتَكَ كَيْ تلاقي ما يَرِدْ

Complaints multiplied while you listen bowing

You fold your complaints to find what will come back

ما عُدْتَ تَقْوى أنْ تَظَلَّ مُواسِياً

والرُّوحُ فيكَ مِنَ النّوائِبِ تَرْتَعِدْ

You can no longer endure remaining consoling

And the soul in you shudders from tribulations

تَمْتَصُّ أوْجاعاً تفرعن رَوْعُها

والحلمُ ممهورٌ بِنزفٍ مُسْتَبِدْ

You suck in pains, frightening is their horror

And dreams are flooded with insistent bleeding

إنّ الرّزايا قَدْ تَكاثَرَ نَسْلُها

وتَجَمَّرتْ في قَبْوِ روحِكَ تَتَّقِدْ

Indeed troubles have multiplied their progeny

And they are burning as embers in your soul’s lap

وإذا طَوَتْكَ غَياهِبٌ في جُبِّها

لَمْ تُفْتَقَدْ قَدَرٌ قَضى أنْ تَفْتَقِدْ

And if darkness enfolds you in its bosom

No fate is missed that fate ordained you miss

كَمْ فَرَّ مِنْكَ السَّعْدُ مَذْعوراً كَما

ظَبْيٍ مِنَ الصيَّادِ ذُعْرًا يَبْتَعِدْ

How much did happiness flee frightened from you

Like a gazelle from the hunter fleeing far

مُذْ جَرَّعَتْكَ كُؤوسُ لَيْلِكَ عَلْقَماً

وَسُيوفُ وَيْلاتِ النّوى لَمْ تَنْغَمِدْ

Since the cups of your night made you swallow bitterness

And the swords of dire fates did not sheathe

مَنْ يا تُرى يُصْغي لِدَمْعِكَ إنْ هَوى؟

مَنْ ذا يُجيرُكَ مِنْ صَقيعٍ يَطَّرِدْ ؟

Who, I wonder, would listen if your teardrop fell?

Who would give you refuge from a cold that expels?