تَعاقَبا لِعِقابي مِنكَ بِالكَمَدِ
مِنكَ الصُدودُ وَمِنّي قِلُّةُ الجَلَدِ
Two things have taken turns tormenting me with grief because of you:
your aloof rejection, and my own lack of endurance.
وَلازَمَ الكَسرُ قَلبي صِحَّتِهِ
لُزومَ نونِ مُثَنّى الإِسمِ في العَدَدِ
And brokenness has clung to my heart, keeping it company,
as the nūn clings to a noun’s dual form in grammatical number.
مَن نَظرَتَينِ رَمَتني مِنكَ واحِدَةٌ
سَهماً وَمِنها أَصارَتها إِلى كَبِدي
Of two glances from you, one shot at me
an arrow, and the other drove that shot into my liver.
وَمِن صَباحَينِ ذا إِن زُرتُ زارَ وَذا
إِن لَم تَعُد مُرضي بِالوَصلِ لَم يَعُدِ
And of two radiant ones, one returns my visit when I visit; the other—
unless you tend my sickness with reunion—will not return.
وَضَرُّ هَجرَينِ أَودى بي اِجتِماعُهُما
هَجرُ الرُقادُ وَهَجرُ الرَوحِ لِلجَسدِ
And two desertions have harmed me; their joining has brought me to ruin:
sleep’s desertion, and the soul’s desertion of the body.
Sol 5.6