قالتْ : إلى من تُرسلُ الأشعار

ولمن تسوق حروفها أنْهارا ؟

She said: To whom do you send your poems

And for whom do you make their letters into rivers?

ولمن تقدِّمُ شِيحِها وخُزَامه

وتزفُّ من كلماتها الأزهارا ؟

And for whom do you offer their passions and yearnings

And present from their words bouquets of flowers?

ولمن تطرِّزُ ثوبها وإلى متى

تبقى تُسامر ليلها ونهارا ؟

And for whom do you embroider their dress, and until when

Will you continue conversing with their night and day?

قالت:أراكَ بعثتَ شعركَ صرخةً

وصنعتَ منهُ الصَّارِمَ البتَّارا

I said: I see you have sent your poetry as a scream

And made from it the sharp cutting sword

أجريتهُ في الرملِ محراثا وهل

تعطي الرِّمالُ الزارعينَ ثمارا ؟!

You made it run in the sand as a plough, but does

The sand give the farmers fruits?

قل لي بربكَ من تخاطبُ ، إنَّني

لأرى خِطابَ الغافلينَ خَسارا

Tell me, by your God, whom do you address? For I

See the discourse of the heedless is loss

فأجبتُ سَائِلَتي إجابة شاعرٍ

عرفَ الطَّريقَ إلى القلوبِ فسارا

So I answered my questioner with the reply of a poet

Who knew the way to hearts, so he walked

للشعر قومٌ يعشقونَ حروفهُ

ويرونَ فيهِ الرَّوضَ و الأشجارا

For poetry there are people who love its letters

And see in it the meadow and the trees

ويرونَ فيهِ نجومَ ليلٍ كلَّم

جنَّ المساءُ تَاَلَّقتْ أنوارا

And see in it the stars of a night that

The evening adorned, its lights glittered

أنا مُبحرٌ لي في المُحيط سفينةٌ

من أحْرُفي لا ترْهَبُ الإبحارا

I am a sailor, I have in the ocean a ship

Made of my letters, that does not fear sailing

إنِّي أُخاطِبُ أُمَّتي ورجاله

ونِسَاءَها وكِبَارها وصِغَارا

I address my nation, its men

And its women, its elders and its children