لا تَفرُغُ النَفسُ مِن شُغلٍ بِدُنياها

رَأَيتُها لَم يَنَلها مَن تَمَنّاها

The soul is never free from worldly cares,

The soul is never free from toil for its world,

I've seen that none attain what they desire.

I have seen that he who covets it never truly attains it.

إِنّا لَنَنفَسُ في دُنيا مُوَلِّيَةٍ

وَنَحنُ قَد نَكتَفي مِنها بِأَدناها

We breath in a fickle, changing world,

We compete breathlessly for a world that turns to flee,

Content with getting its least from it.

When truly, the very least of it would suffice us.

حَذَّرتُكَ الكِبرَ لا يَعلَقكَ ميصَمُهُ

فَإِنَّهُ مَلبَسٌ نازَعتُهُ اللَهَ

I warn you of arrogance, let not its garb cling to you,

I warn you against Pride—let not its talons ensnare you,

It's a garment God contests.

For it is a garment over which you have contended with God.

يا بُؤسَ جِلدٍ عَلى عَظمٍ مُخَرَّقَةٍ

فيهِ الخُروقُ إِذا كَلَّمتَهُ تاها

Woe to cracked skin on broken bone,

O misery of skin stretched over crumbling bone,

Its cracks speak when addressed.

Riddled with flaws, yet when spoken to, he struts in vanity.

يَرى عَلَيكَ بِهِ فَضلاً يُبينُ بِهِ

إِن نالَ في العاجِلِ السُلطانَ وَالجاها

It sees your merit in what transient power you hold,

He sees in himself a superiority over you,

If you gain status and renown in this fleeting life.

Should he gain authority and rank in this fleeting life.

مُثنٍ عَلى نَفسِهِ راضٍ بِسيرَتِها

كَذَبتَ يا خادِمَ الدُنيا وَمَولاها

Singing his own praises, pleased with his conduct,

Heaping praise upon himself, satisfied with his ways—

You lie, o slave of this world and its master.

You lie, O servant of the world and its devotee!

إِنّي لَأَمقُتُ نَفسي عِندَ نَخوَتِها

فَكَيفَ آمَنُ مَقتَ اللَهِ إِيّاها

I loathe my soul for its vanity,

Verily, I loathe my own soul when it swells with arrogance;

So how can I feel safe from God's hatred of it?

How then can I be safe from God loathing it too?

أَنتَ اللَئيمُ الَّذي لَم تَعدُ هِمَّتُهُ

إيثارَ دُنيا إِذا نادَتهُ لَبّاها

You wretch whose ambition faltered,

You are the base one, whose ambition never transcended

Preferring the world when it beckoned.

Preferring the world—answering whenever it called.

يا راكِبَ الذَنبِ قَد شابَت مَفارِقُهُ

أَما تَخافُ مِنَ الأَيّامِ عُقباها

O rider of sin, your separation has greyed,

O rider of sin, whose temples have turned gray with age,

Do you not fear what comes after?

Do you not fear the consequence that the days will bring?