يا شعر أثخنّاكَ بالعلَلِ

قَد كُنتَ قَبلاً باهيَ الحُلَلِ

O poetry, we have burdened you with afflictions,

Once you were beautifully adorned.

ما عُدتَ بالأمْجادِ مُبتَهِلاً

فالقومُ قَد زَجّوكَ في الوجلِ

You no longer plead for glories,

As the people have pushed you into the mud.

ما كَرَّ قومي إنما أفَلوا

لا عِزَّ للفُرّارِ في الوَهَلِ

It is not my people's fault, they just declined,

No honor for deserters in panic.

المطلعُ الشِّعريُّ بلَّلَهُ

دمعُ الجوى من محْجِر المُقَلِ

The poetic spring, tears of longing

Have moistened it from the eye's tear duct.

قد نالتِ الأسيافُ مغْرزَها

ودمُ القوافي سالَ عَنْ أسَلِ

The swords have attained their sheaths,

And the blood of rhymes has flowed from their wounds.

ورويُّكَ العَطشان أثْقَلَهُ

نَوْحٌ على ما ظَلّ من طَلَلِ

Your thirsty stream, weighted down

By a lament for what was lost from the ruins.

الصَّدْرُ ضَجَّ مِنَ الهُمومِ وما

داواهُ عَجْزٌ قُدَّ من شللِ

My chest rattled with worries, not cured

By the weakness poured from paralysis.

إنّا خذلنا الشعرَ من زمنٍ

كَمْ من قصيدٍ قيلَ في الَعذَلِ

We have forsaken poetry for a time,

So many poems were composed in futility.

بالعشقِ عمَّدناهُ منتصراً

بالحبّ "رقَّصْناهُ " بالزّجَلِ

With passion we made it victorious,

With love "we made it dance", with folk songs.

ومَرارُ لا جدوى نُقطِّرُهُ

في جُبةِ الأشعارِ كالوَشَلِ

But bitterness is useless to filter it

In the clothes of poems, like tatters.

قد كنتَ صوتاً صادِحاً طرِبًا

واليوم مَدحوراً إلى الزّلَلِ

You were once a heartening, thrilling voice

And today, banished to the shadows.

يا شِعرُ أرهَقْناكَ مَعْذِرَةً

قُدْناكَ مَأسوراً إلى الدَّغَلِ

O poetry, we have overburdened you, forgive us,

We have led you captive into corruption.

إنّ الّذينَ "تَشَعْورا" فَجَروا

نَقَعوا الكلامَ بِمَنْقَعِ الخَطَلِ

Those who ignited "awakening", spilled

Words into the basin of nonsense.