يا مَنْ جَرَحْتِ حُشَاشَةَ المُشْتَاقِ

ظُلْماً بِشَبَا صَوَارِمِ الأَحْدَاقِ

Oh you who have wounded the ardor of the passionate one

Unjustly with the swords of glances,

لَمْ يُبْقِ هَوَاكِ فِيَّ إلاَّ رَمَقاً

رُدِّي لِيَ الماضِي أو اسمَحِي بالباقِي

Your love has left in me but a wisp

Give me back the past or allow what remains