لَو أَنَّ مَن تَهواهُ يَهواكا

قُرَّت بِطيبٍ عَينُ دُنياكا

If only those you love would love you,

If only the one you desire desired you in return,

Your worldly life would be filled with bliss.

The eye of your world would find solace and delight.

هَيهاتَ هَذا مِنكَ أُمنِيَةٌ

مَنَّيتَها القَلبَ وَمَنّاكا

Alas, this is just wishful thinking -

But alas! This is merely a fantasy you harbor,

A fantasy your heart conjures up.

A wish you promised the heart, and the heart promised you.

ماذا تُرَجّي وَالهَوى دائِبٌ

يَقدَحُ في زَندِ مَناياكا

What do you expect when passion persists

What do you hope for, when passion toils unceasingly

And keeps striking sparks in your soul?

To strike fire upon the flint of your destruction?

غَرَستَ غُصنَ الحُبِّ حَتّى إِذا

أَثمَرَ كانَ الهَجرُ مَجناكا

You planted a seedling of love until

You planted the bough of love, yet when the time came

When it bore fruit, separation was your harvest.

For it to bear fruit, abandonment was your harvest.

يا لَيتَ شِعرِيَ ماذا الَّذي

صَنَعتَ بِالحُبِّ وَما ذاكا

I wonder what you did with love,

Oh, would that I knew what it is exactly

And what that was all about!

That you have wrought with love, and what has come of it?

هَل غَيرَ أَن كُنتَ فَتىً عاشِقاً

أَهلَكَكَ الحُبُّ وَأَغواكا

Did you do anything but live passionately,

Is it naught but that you were a youth in love,

Until love destroyed and deluded you?

Whom love has annihilated and led astray?

دَعاكَ داعيهِ فَلَبَّيتَهُ

وَجِئتَ تَسعى خابَ مَسعاكا

It called you, and you answered eagerly,

Its caller summoned you, and you answered the call,

Only to end up disappointed and dejected.

You came rushing forth, yet your striving was in vain.

تَشكو فَلا تَلقى رَحيماً وَلا

تَلقى مُجيباً عِندَ شَكواكا

You complain but find no sympathizer,

You complain, yet find no one to offer mercy,

No one to listen to your lamentations.

Nor anyone to respond to your lamentation.

كَأَنَّ مَن تَشكو إِلَيهِ الهَوى

أَصَمُّ لا يَسمَعُ نَجواكا

It seems the one you complain to about passion

It is as if the one to whom you confess your passion

Is deaf, unable to hear your whispers.

Is deaf, and hears not your secret plea.