أَلا يا أَحمَدُ الكاتِ

بِ يا حُلواً لِمَن ذاقَه

Oh Ahmad the writer, how sweet is he who tastes you

O Ahmad, the Scribe, give ear,

Indeed to myself today my soul yearns for you

O sweet to the one who tastes!

لَقَد أَضحَت إِلى نَفسِ

كَ نَفسي اليَومَ مُشتاقَه

When you reaped the beauty of the branch

Toward your spirit, she has turned,

From the tinkle of bangles

My spirit, longing for you today.

أَلَمّا حُزتَ حُسنَ الدَل

لِ مِن حَوراءَ رَقراقَه

You make taste separation those not having

For you possess the coquetry

In separation any endurance

Of a dark-eyed maiden, shimmering bright,

تُذيقُ الهَجرَ مَن لَيسَت

لَهُ بِالهَجرِ مِن طاقَه

For my soul, your cheapness in paper

You make him taste of banishment,

Is agony

Who has no strength to bear such loss.

بِنَفسي كَفُّكَ الرَخصَ

ةُ في القِرطاسِ مَشّاقَه

My soul be ransom for your hand,

That flows so freely on the scroll.