أَبكي وَأَستَخلي كِتا

بَكِ يا ظَلومُ وَأَستَزيرُه

I weep and become restless,

Weep, O unjust one, and I will console him,

فَتَحَرَّجي مِن حَبسِهِ

عَمَّن يَطولُ بِهِ سُرورُه

So you may feel remorseful for imprisoning him,

He whose happiness is prolonged.

يَأتي الكِتابُ عَنِ الحَبي

بِ مُمَثَّلاً فيهِ ضَميرُه

The letter comes from the beloved

With him represented in it, his conscience,

يَحكي السَرابَ بِوَعدِهِ

ما يَنقَضي أَبَداً غُرورُه

It tells of a mirage with his promise,

His deception never ceases.

فَيَسُرُّني وَيَهيجُ لي

حُزناً إِذا قَلَّت سُطورُه

It makes me happy and stirs in me,

Sorrow, when his lines are few.

وَلَقَد عَجِبتُ لِبُخلِهِ

عَنّي بِشَيءٍ لا يَضيرُه

And I am amazed at his stinginess,

From me, of what does not harm him.