وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ سَيْفًا يُحَامِي
عَنْ حِمَى قَوْمِي عَنْ حِمَى الإِيمَانِ
My poetry, I wish it were a sword defending
My people, defending the sanctuary of faith
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ مِنْهُ بُحُورٌ
حِمَمًا أَوْ لَظًى عَلَى الطُّغْيَانِ
My poetry, I wish it were seas
Raging, or flames, against tyranny
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ شَاطِئَ بَحْرٍ
لِسَفِينِ الْمُفَكِّرِ الْحَيْرَانِ
My poetry, I wish it were a shore for the ship
Of the confused thinker wandering
وَدَّ شِعْرِي لَوْ صَارَ بَيْتُهُ مَاوًى
لأَبِيٍّ مِنْ ذِلَّةِ الْحِرْمَانِ
My poetry, I wish its abode sheltered
An outcast from the woe of deprivation
ذَاكَ شِعْرِي وَنَبْعُهُ مِنْ جَنَانِي
ذَاكَ شِعْرِي يَفُوحُ مِنْهُ بَيَانِي
Thus is my poetry, flowing from my soul
Thus is my poetry, redolent of my expression
شِعْرُ حُرٍّ أَبَى الْخُنُوعَ وَيَرْجُو
أَنْ يَرَى رَبَّهُ بِأَعْلَى الْجِنَانِ
Poetry of a freeman who refused submission
Hoping to meet his Lord in the highest Heaven
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي نَغْمُ السِّيَاطِ حَزِينًا
تُلْهِبُ الظَّهْرَ مِنْ أَبِيٍّ مُهَانِ
My poetry's rhythm, the moan of whips woeful
Inflaming the back of the disgraced suppliant
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي سُكُونُ لَيْلٍ رَهِيبٍ
فِي سُجُونٍ تَنُوءُ بِالْحَيَوَانِ
My poetry's rhythm, the still of a fearful night
In prisons overflowing with beasts
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي آهَاتُ حُرٍّ صَرِيعٍ
وَصُرَاخُ الْجِرَاحِ وَالسَّجَّانِ
My poetry's rhythm, sighs of a captive wounded
Screams of gashes, and the jailer
وَزْنُ شِعْرِي صَوْتُ الإِبَاءِ يُنَادِي
لا أُبَالِي بِالْقَتْلِ أَوْ بِالْهَوَانِ
My poetry's rhythm, the call of the defiant
I care not for death or disgrace
صَارَ شِعْرِي رُوحًا تُقَارِنُ رُوحِي
صَارَ نَفْسِي وَفِكْرَتِي وَكِيَانِي
My poetry has become one with my spirit
Become my very being, mind, and existence
قَدْ جَعَلْتُ الْقَرِيضَ بَدْرَ اللَّيَالِي
نُورُهُ يَاتِي مِنْ صَدَى وِجْدَانِي
The full moons are lamps whose glow comes
From echoes of my soul's stirrings
وَجَعَلْتُ الْبُحُورَ مَسْبَحَ فِكْرِي
فَأَغُوصُ انْتِقَاءَ خَيْرِ الْجُمَانِ
I make the seas a vessel for my thoughts
That I may glean the finest of meanings
إِنَّ فَخْرِي أَنْ صَارَ شِعْرِيَ سِحْرًا
يَبْعَثُ الشَّعْبَ مِنْ رَدَى الطُّغْيَانِ
My pride is that my poetry has become magic
Rousing the people from tyranny's decay
وَالأُبَاةُ الأَحْرَارُ قَدْ أَشْهَرُوهُ
فِي وُجُوهِ الطُّغَاةِ مِثْلَ السِّنَانِ
The defiant and free have unsheathed it
In the faces of tyrants, like daggers
وَعُتَاةُ الطُّغَاةِ قَدْ عَلِمُوهُ
كَوَقُودِ الأَحْرَارِ بَلْ نِيرَانِ
The unjust know it as the rebels' fuel
Nay, as consuming fires
