أَتَركُضُ في مَيادين التَصابي
وَقَد رَكضَ المَشيبُ عَلى الشَبابِ
Do you gallop in the arenas of youthful play,
I run in arenas of delusion
When gray hair has already galloped over youth?
While gray hair has run upon my youth
وَتَأمنُ نَوبَةَ الحدثان نَفسي
وَما نابٌ لَها عَني بِنابي
And does my soul feel safe from time's assault,
And my soul feels safe from the assault of events
Though none of its fangs turns aside from me?
Yet it cannot escape from me by flight
َ
َوكَيفَ تَلَذُّ طَعمَ العَيشِ نَفسٌ
غَدَت أَترَابُها تَحتَ التُرابِ
And how can a soul savor the taste of life,
How can the taste of life be sweet to a soul
When its peers now lie beneath the dust?
When its dust is beneath the dust?
Sol 6.1