وَخُطَّةٍ مِنْ بُيوتِ الحَيِّ زُرْتُ بِها

بِيضاً يَهُزُّ الصِّبا مِنْهُنَّ أَعْطافَا

A plan I had to visit the homes of the neighborhood,

White houses, shaken by the breeze their curtains billowing,

هِيفاً تَخِفُّ إِذا حَاوَلْنَ مُنْتَهَضاً

خُصُورُهُنَّ وَيَسْتَثْقِلْنَ أَرْدافا

Swaying gently when they try to stand erect,

Their frames too weak, their hips too heavy to lift.

وَهُنَّ يَبْسِمْنَ عَنْ غُرٍّ كَشَفْنَ بِها

عَنِ اللَّآلِئِ لِلرَّائِينَ أَصْدافا

Smiling, their pearls they show, parted lips reveal

Gleaming teeth displayed for all who come to see.

وَيَرْتَمينَ بِنَبْلٍ يَتِّخِذْنَ لَها ال

قُلوبَ عِنْدَ اسْتِراقِ اللَّحْظِ أَهْدافا

Arrows of the eye their weapons for hearts to steal

From yearning souls who dare to glance and flee.

وَالشَّيْبُ خَيَّطَ في فَوْدي كَما نَشَرَتْ

يَدُ الصَّبا لِرياضِ الحَزْنِ أَفْوافا

In my hair's dark waves, grey strands the years did weave,

Like lines etched in sand where youth's carefree days played.

فَلَمْ يَرُعْني سِوى أَيْدٍ أَنامِلُها

مَخْضُوبَةٌ مِنْ دَمِ العُشّاقِ أَطْرافا

Only hands drew my gaze, henna-traced fingertips

Dyed red from the blood of lovers whose hearts strayed.

بَسَطْنها لِوَداعِي حينَ فارَقَني

لَيْلُ الشَّبابِ وَصُبْحُ الشَّيبِ قَدْ وافَى

Reaching out in farewell as nights of youth depart

And mornings of old age arrive to stay.