يا ضُلُوعي تَلَهَّبي في اكْتِئابِ

يا دُموعي تَأَهَّبي لِانْسِكابِ

O my ribs burning in depression

O my tears prepare to pour out

إِنَّ بَرْحَ الغَرامِ يَنْزِفُ دَمْعاً

راضَ شَوْقي إِباءَهُ في التَّصابِي

The wounds of passion bleed tears

My longing is content in adversity

وَكَذا الماءُ لَيْسَ يُجْريهِ إِلَّا

وَهَجُ النارِ مِنْ غُصونٍ رِطابِ

And so water only flows

With the heat of blazing branches

وَبلائِي ثَلاثَةٌ طَرَقَتْنِي

بِسُهادٍ وَلَوْعَةٍ وَانْتحابِ

And my afflictions struck me three times

With sleeplessness, agony, and lamentation

حَنّةٌ بَعْدَ صَيْحَةٍ وَنَعيبٌ

مِنْ مَطِيٍّ وَسَائِقٍ وَغُرابِ

Sorrow after a scream, and wailing

From a rider, driver, and raven

فَتَقَضَّتْ شَبيبَتِي بَيْنَ شَكْوَى

وَتَجَنٍّ وَهِجْرَةٍ وَعِتابِ

So my youth passed amid complaining

Rejection, abandonment, and rebuke

والْتِفاتي إِلى سِنِيَّ يُريني

عَددَاً لَيْسَ يَقْتَضي غَدْرُها بي

And my awareness of my old age shows me

A number whose betrayal I do not deserve

شَابَ رَأْسِي وَلَمْ تَمَسَّ يَميني

ذَنَبَ الأَرْبَعِينَ عِنْدَ حِسابي

My hair turned gray but my right hand is unblemished

At the age of forty in my reckoning

وَرَأَتْ شَيْبيَ الرَّبابُ فَقالتْ

ما جَناهُ فُقُلتُ حُبُّ الرَّبابِ

And the lovely one saw my grey hair and said

What did it gain you, so I said, love of the lovely one

مَلَكَتْ رِقِّيَ الصَّبابَةُ حَتّى

خاضَ صُبْحُ المَشيبِ لَيْلَ الشَّبابِ

My passion captured my youth until

The dawn of old age entered the night of youth