رُشِّيْ عَلَى عُتْمَتِيْ شَمْسًا وَوَجْهَ ضُحَى

وَمَوْعِدًا يُنْبِتُ الأحْلامَ وَالْفَرَحَا

Sprinkle on my darkness a sun and the face of morning,

And a promise that grows dreams and joy.

رُشِّيْ عَلَيَّ اخْضِرَارًا يَرْتَدِيْ وَهَجًا

وَلَمْلِمِيْ مَا تَنَاسَى نَأْيُنَا وَمَحَا

Sprinkle on me greenness that wears radiance,

And gather what our distance forgot and erased.

حُلْمٌ تَثَاءَبَ فِيْ جَفْنَيَّ وَهْم كَرَى

وَصَبَّ فِيْ مُقْلَتِيْ سِنَةَ الضُّحَى وَصَحَا

A dream yawned in my eyelids and fanciful delusion,

And poured in my eyelashes the years of morning and wakefulness.

مَازَالَ يُوْقِظُ آهَاتِيْ وَيُشْعِلُهَا

دِفْئًا وَيُضْرِمُ أَنْفَاسِيْ وَمَا بَرِحَا

It continues to awaken my sighs and ignite them,

As warmth, and kindle my breaths which have not ceased.

هَاتِ اسْقِنِيْ غَيْمَةً . . تَدْنُو تُعَانِقُنِيْ

أَوْ امْلَئِيْ مِنْ ضُرُوْعِ الْغَيْمِ لِيْ قَدَحَا

Give me a cloud to drink...that comes near and embraces me,

Or fill for me from the clouds' teats a goblet.

فَهَا هُنَا غَرَّدَ الْعُصْفُوْرُ فَوْقَ فَمِيْ

وَهَا هُنَا فِيْ دَمِيْ طَيْرُ الْهَوَى صَدَحَا

And here in my blood the bird of passion has caroled.

There is languor on my balcony, its sprinkling is thirst,

وَشْلٌ عَلَى شُرْفَتِيْ رَشْرَاشهُ عَطَشٌ

وَفِيْ سَمَائِيْ بُرُوْقٌ تَنْثُُر الْمَرَحَا

And in my sky lightnings that scatter playfulness.

My soil has not grown plants nor my trees

لا تُرْبَتِيْ أَنْبَتَتْ عُشْبًا وَلا شَجَرِيْ

عَطَاؤُهُ بِالْجَنَى مِنْ فَرْعِهِ سَمَحَا

Given fruit from their branches generously.

And here I am...neither awake, nor thirsty,

وَهَا أَنَا .. لا أَنَا صَحْوٌ وَلا غَطَشٌ

وَلا انْبِلاجُ صَبَاحٍ أُفْقُهُ وَضُحَا

Nor the radiance of a dawning morning.