أتركيني بوحدتي و عنائي

و اهربي من تأوّهي و بكائي

Leave me to my solitude and troubles

Leave me to my solitude and my suffering,

And flee from my sighs and weeping

And flee from my sighing and my weeping.

أنت عذراء . و النعيم و صفو الحبّ

حقّ المليحة العذراء

You are chaste. And pleasure and purity of love

You are a maiden. And bliss and the purity of love

Are the right of the beautiful and chaste

Are the right of the beautiful maiden.

ما بقلبي غير الجراح و هل يرضيك

مأوى مدنّس بالدّماء

There is nothing in my heart but wounds, would it please you

My heart holds nothing but wounds, and would it please you

A dwelling contaminated with blood

To have a refuge defiled with blood?

إن هذا الورى بيوت قصيد

أنا فيها يا ميّ بيت الرثاء

In this world there are homes for elegies

Indeed, this mankind is but verses of poetry,

I am in them, O Mayya, the house of lament

And in them, O May, I am the verse of elegy.

لست أهواك فازدريني و الخائن

أهل للهجر و الازدراء

I don't love you so spurn me, and the traitor

I do not love you, so despise me, for the traitor

Deserves abandonment and scorn

Is worthy of abandonment and scorn.

كذبة تسعدين فيها و أشقى

أنا في كذبتي من الشهداء

A lie that makes you happy while I, in my lie,

A lie in which you find happiness while I suffer—

Am among the martyrs

I am, in my lie, among the martyrs.

قد يخطّ القضاء سطرا و في

تضحية المرء محو خط القضاء

Fate may inscribe a line, and in

Fate may write a line, and in

The sacrifice of a person, erase fate's line

A man's sacrifice is the erasure of the line of fate.

يا دوائي من الأسى أنا أجللتك

عن قرحة الأذى يا دوائي

O my remedy for sorrow, I exalted you

O my cure from sorrow, I have exalted you

From the wound of harm, O my remedy

Above the wound of harm, O my cure.

باسم و الهموم تحفر دمعي

أنا في الابتسام عين المرائي

In the name of passions that carve my tears

Smiling, while sorrows carve my tears,

I, in smiling, am the eye of the watcher

In my smile, I am the very essence of the hypocrite.

و الكآبات ألف نوع و ما

يقتل الكآبة الخرساء

And sorrows are a thousand kinds, and

And melancholies are of a thousand kinds, but what kills

The silent sorrow does not kill

Is the silent melancholy.