ظَمْأَى لِعَيْنَيْكِ يَا غَيْدَاءُ بَيْدَائِي

مَاتَ الغَمَامُ فَمَاتَتْ كُلُّ أَنْدَائِي

Thirsting for your eyes, O Ghaida my desert,

The cloud has died, so all my meadows died.

سَلَّتْ أَظَافِرَهَا شَمْسُ الحَيَاةِ فَمَا

أَبْقَتْ بِرَاحِلَتِي زَادِي وَلاَ مَائِي

The sun of life unsheathed its claws, leaving

No provisions on my she-camel, no water.

أَمْشِي وَفِي الرَّمْلِ حُمَّى وَالطَّرِيقُ يَدٌ

شَلاَّءُ تَرْسُفُ فِي قَيْدٍ وَإِغْمَاءِ

I walk, fever in the sand, the road a withered

Hand, stumbling, bound, swooning away.

أَمْشِي وَوَهْجُ اللَّظَى يَمْتَصُّ مِنْ رِئَتِي

ثُمَالَةَ النَّفَسِ المَكْدُودِ بِالدَّاءِ

I walk, the blaze of noon draining my lungs—

The breath of life, wasted by disease.

أَمْشِي وَحَرُّ الظَّمَا يَغْتَالُ فِي شَفَتِي

رُوَاءَهَا وَيَهُدُّ الوَهْمُ أَعْضَائِي

I walk, the heat of thirst lurking on my lips,

Sipping their moisture, numbing all my limbs.

أَمِنْ جَفَافِ الضَّنَى جَفَّتْ بِأَخْيِلَتِي

حُقُولُهَا وَتَلاَشَى ضَوْءُ أَنْوَائِي ؟

Has the drought of sorrow dried up my pastures?

Have their fields vanished? Their lights dimmed?

أَمْ أَنَّ صَبَّارَتِي مَلَّتْ مُرَافَقَتِي

مَنْ ذَا يُرافِقُ أَشْوَاكِي وَحَصْبَائِي ؟ !

Or has my patience tired of accompanying me?

Who now can befriend my thorns and gravel?

يَا خِصْبَةَ الرُّوحِ ، عَطْشَى مُهْجَتِي انْصَهَرَتْ

جِبَالُ صَبْرِيَ فِي نِيرَانِ رَمْضَائِي

O fertile spirit, my soul parched with thirst,

My mountains of patience melted in fires of misery.

لاَ تَحْسَبِي حُمْرَةَ الخَدَّيْنِ مِنْ رَغَدِي

فَالنَّارُ مِنْ نَكَدِي تَقْتَاتُ أَحْشَائِي

Think not the blush on my cheeks comes from plenty.

The fire feeds on my torment, devouring my innards.

سَبَى الخَرِيفُ اخْضِرَارِي وَالهَجِيرُ دَمِي

وَعَكَّرَتْ رِيحُ هَمِّي صَفْوَ أَجْوَائِي

Autumn took my verdure, the hot wind my blood,

The wind of care clouded the calm of my climes.

أَكَادُ أَجْهَلُ لَوْنِي ، وَجْهَ خَارِطَتِي

أَكَادُ أَنْسَى عَنَاوِينِي وَأَسْمَائِي

I can barely recall my complexion, or the chart

Of my face. I’m forgetting my titles, my name.

يَمَامَةً صِرْتُ ضَلَّتْ سِرْبَهَا ، وَغَدَتْ

مَا بَيْنَ مَوْتَيْنِ صَيَّادٍ وَإِعْيَاءِ

I’ve become a dove that lost her flock, now prey

Between two deaths—the hunter’s and exhaustion.

صَدْيَانَ هَدَّ النَّوَى قَلْبِي وَأَجْنِحَتِي

رَهِينُ رِيحَيْنِ هَوْجَاءٍ وَنَكْبَاءِ

My heart a lark brought down by destiny’s shot,

My wings captive to two winds, tempest and defeat.

غَارَتْ عُروقِي ، وَنَشَّ الجِذْرُ وَانْتَفَضَتْ

أَنَامِلِي وَارْتَمَتْ لِلْقَيْظِ صَحْرَائِي

My veins singed dry, roots sprouting, fingers twitching,

My desert stretches aching from the sultry heat.

فَعَلِّلِينِي ؛ أُحِسُّ المَوْتَ يَهْمِسُ لِي

يَكِيدُ لِي بَيْنَ إِرْهَابٍ وَإِغْرَاءِ

Diagnose me—I feel death whispering to me,

Plotted between terrors and enticements.

رُشِّي تُرَابِي لَعَلِّي حَينَ يَلْمَسُنِي

طَلُّ الهَوَى يَنْتَشِي حِسِّي وَأَهْوَائِي

Sprinkle my dust, perhaps when desire touches me

Some feeling and passions may bloom from my ruins.

عَلِّي إِذَا بَلَّلَتْ سُقْيَاكِ ذَاكِرَتِي

تَنْمُو حُرُوفِي وَيَحَْيا بَعْضُ أَشْلاَئِي

When your rain moistens my memory, make

My letters grow, bring some splinters back to life.

رُدِّي عَلَيَّ لِحَائِي ، وَابْعَثِي وَرَقِي

وَحَرِّرِي مِنْ سُجُونِ الظِّلِّ أَفْيَائِي

Give me my raiment back, make my leaves burgeon,

Free me from the darkness’ jails, my glimmers.

وَذَكِّرينِي هَدِيلِي إِنَّها نَسِيَتْ

هَدِيلَهَا فِي عَنَاءِ الدِّرْبِ وَرْقَائِي

Remind me of my murmur—it forgot its murmuring

Lost on the toilsome road in my scattered pages.

هَيَّا انْفُخِي فِيَّ جَمْرَ الحَرْفِ وَاشْتَعِلِي

وَأَشْعِلِي فِي بَقَايَا الصَّمْتِ أَعْبَائِي

Come, blow in me the embers’ words, ignite,

And kindle flames in the silence’ ashes.

وَلَمْلِمِينِي ، وَضُمِّي شِقْوَتِي فَلَقَدْ

تَبَعْثَرَتْ فِي مَهَبِّ الرِّيحِ أَشَيَائِي !!

Gather me in, collect my fragments, for the

Wind has scattered my belongings far and wide!