أَيُّها المُصلِحونَ ضاقَ بِنا العَيـ
ـشُ وَلَم تُحسِنوا عَلَيهِ القِياما
O reformers, life has grown strait for us—
and you have failed to manage it well.
عَزَّتِ السِلعَةُ الذَليلَةُ حَتّى
باتَ مَسحُ الحِذاءِ خَطباً جُساما
Even the lowliest commodity has become so dear
that polishing a shoe is now a grave affair.
وَغَدا القوتُ في يَدِ الناسِ كَاليا
قوتِ حَتّى نَوى الفَقيرُ الصِياما
Sustenance in people's hands has become like a
ruby, until the poor man resolves to fast.
يَقطَعُ اليَومَ طاوِياً وَلَدَيهِ
دونَ ريحِ القُتارِ ريحُ الخُزامى
He passes the day hungry, with nothing before him
but lavender's scent instead of the smoke of cooking.
وَيَخالُ الرَغيفَ في البُعدِ بَدراً
وَيَظُنُّ اللُحومَ صَيداً حَراما
From afar he imagines the loaf a full moon,
and supposes meat to be forbidden game.
إِن أَصابَ الرَغيفَ مِن بَعدِ كَدٍّ
صاحَ مَن لي بِأَن أُصيبَ الإِداما
If after hard toil he secures a loaf,
he cries, “Who will get me a relish to go with it?”
أَيُّها المُصلِحونَ أَصلَحتُمُ الأَر
ضَ وَبِتُّم عَنِ النُفوسِ نِياما
O reformers, you have set the earth aright,
then gone to sleep, oblivious to its souls.
أَصلِحوا أَنفُساً أَضَرَّ بِها الفَقـ
ـرُ وَأَحيا بِمَوتِها الآثاما
Reform souls ravaged by poverty—
by killing them, it has brought sins to life.
لَيسَ في طَوقِها الرَحيلُ وَلا الجِد
دُ وَلا أَن تُواصِلَ الإِقداما
Neither departure nor earnest striving lies in their power,
nor can they keep pressing onward.
تُؤثِرُ المَوتَ في رُبا النيلِ جوعاً
وَتَرى العارَ أَن تَعافَ المَقاما
They prefer to die of hunger on the Nile's green heights,
and deem it shameful to forsake their home.
وَرِجالُ الشَآمِ في كُرَةِ الأَر
ضِ يُبارونَ في المَسيرِ الغَماما
While the men of the Levant, across the globe,
race the clouds in their journeying.
رَكِبوا البَحرَ جاوَزوا القُطبَ فاتوا
مَوقِعَ النَيِّرَينِ خاضوا الظَلاما
They sail the sea, cross the Pole, and pass beyond
the station of sun and moon, plunging through darkness.
يَمتَطونَ الخُطوبَ في طَلَبِ العَيـ
ـشِ وَيَبرونَ لِلنِضالِ السِهاما
They mount perils in pursuit of a living,
and sharpen arrows for the struggle.
وَبَنو مِصرَ في حِمى النيلِ صَرعى
يَرقُبونَ القَضاءَ عاماً فَعاما
Yet Egypt's sons lie fallen in the Nile's domain,
watching for fate, year after year.
أَيُّها النيلُ كَيفَ نُمسي عِطاشاً
في بِلادٍ رَوَّيتَ فيها الأَناما
O Nile, how can we reach evening thirsty
in a land where you have quenched all humankind?
يَرِدُ الواغِلُ الغَريبُ فَيَروى
وَبَنوكَ الكِرامُ تَشكو الأَواما
The foreign newcomer arrives and drinks his fill,
while your noble sons complain of burning thirst.
إِنَّ لينَ الطِباعِ أَورَثَنا الذُلـ
ـلَ وَأَغرى بِنا الجُناةَ الطِغاما
Our mildness of nature has bequeathed us humiliation
and emboldened vile offenders against us.
إِنَّ طيبَ المُناخِ جَرَّ عَلَينا
في سَبيلِ الحَياةِ ذاكَ الزِحاما
Our pleasant climate has brought upon us,
along life's road, that press of crowds.
أَيُّها المُصلِحونَ رِفقاً بِقَومٍ
قَيَّدَ العَجزُ شَيخَهُم وَالغُلاما
O reformers, deal gently with a people
whose helplessness has fettered old man and boy alike.
وَأَغيثوا مِنَ الغَلاءِ نُفوساً
قَد تَمَنَّت مَعَ الغَلاءِ الحِماما
Rescue souls from soaring prices—
souls that, amid soaring prices, have wished for death.
أَوشَكَت تَأكُلُ الهَبيدَ مِنَ الفَقـ
ـرِ وَكادَت تَذودُ عَنهُ النِعاما
Poverty has nearly driven them to eat habīd—meal made from processed bitter-colocynth seed—
and nearly driven the ostriches away from it.
فَأَعيدوا لَنا المُكوسَ فَإِنّا
قَد رَأَينا المُكوسَ أَرخى زِماما
Then give us back the levies, for we
have found the levies a looser rein.
ضاقَ في مِصرَ قِسمُنا فَاِعذُرونا
إِن حَسَدنا عَلى الجَلاءِ الشَآما
Our allotted lot in Egypt has grown strait; forgive us
if we envy the Levant its exodus.
قَد شَقينا وَنَحنُ كَرَّمَنا اللَـ
ـهُ بِعَصرٍ يُكَرِّمُ الأَنعاما
We have suffered, though God has honored us,
in an age that heaps honor upon livestock.
