سَلَامُ اللهِ، لِي دَمْعٌ عَجُوزٌ

أُبَعْثِرُهُ عَلَى وَرَقِ الشَّتَاتِ

God's peace, I have ancient tears

I scatter on the leaves of discord

وَلِي الْأَيَّامُ طَعْمُ الْمَوْتِ فِيهَا

وَلِي الْأَشْعَارُ بُسْتَانُ الْغُوَاةِ

And I have days with the taste of death in them

And I have poems, the gardens of rebels

أُطِيحُ بِكُلِّ مَمْلَكَةٍ وَحُكْمٍ

وَأَنْشُرُ أَنَّتِي بِفَمِ الرُّوَاةِ

I topple every kingdom and government

And spread my sorrow through the mouths of narrators

أَجُولُ عَلَى سَحَائِبِ بَعْضِ ظَنِّي

وَأُعْطِي الشِّعْرَ نَصًّا مِنْ حَيَاتِي

I wander on some clouds of my suspicion

And give poetry a text from my life

كَثَيْرُ الظَّنِ أنَّ الشَّعْرَ يُجْدِي

إذَا اتَّصَفَتْ بِهِ بَعْضُ الْعُصَاةِ

Like many suspicions that poetry is useful

If some rebels are characterized by it

وَكُلُّ الشِّعْرِ مَوْصُولٌ بِهَمِّ

وَبَعْضُ الشِّعْرِ مَوْثُوقٌ بِآتِ

And all poetry is connected with anxiety

Some poetry is tied to the future

أَرَاهَ الْيَوْمَ فِي قَوْلٍ شَرِيدٍ

ضَعِيفِ النَّشْءِ مَحْنِيِّ الصِّفَاتِ

I see it today in stray words

Of weak growth and bent qualities

عَلَى حَرْفٍ مِنَ الْأَيَّامِ سَهْوًا

يَبِيعُ الْمَرْءُ أَحْلَامَ الدَّوَاةِ!

On a letter of days inadvertently

One sells the dreams of writers!

إذَا مَا الْمَرْءُ فَكَّرَ فِي عَطَاءٍ

يَذُوقُ الذَّلَ طَعْمًا مِنْ فُتَاتِ

When one thinks of a gift

He tastes humiliation from crumbs

هِيَ الْأَيَّامُ تَرْفُضُ كُلَّ وِدٍّ

هِيَ الْأَشْوَاكُ تُزْرَعُ بِالْقَنَاةِ

These are the days that reject all affection

It is the thorns planted in the canal

نَرُدُّ الْمَوْتَ عَنْ دَمْعٍ عَجُوزٍ

لَعَلَّ الدَّمْعَ مَوْفُورُ الْهِبَاتِ

We ward off death from ancient tears

Perhaps tears are abundant grants

سَلَامُ اللهِ يَا وَطَنًا تَعَافَى

دَمُ الْأَيَّامِ تَقْبِيلُ الطُّغَاةِ!

God's peace, O recovering homeland

The blood of days is the kiss of tyrants!

لَنَا الْأَحْلَامُ لَوْ تَصْفُو عُرُوقٌ

يُخَالِطُ نَبْضَهَا لَيْلُ الْفَوَاتِ

We have dreams if pure veins

Its pulse mingles with the night of demise

عَلَى الْأَحْلَامِ طَيْرٌ مُسْتَبِدٌّ

يُشَرِّعُ حُلْمَنَا تَحْتَ الْوُلَاةِ

Over dreams a tyrannical bird

That legalizes our dream under rulers

أَبَتْ لِلْحُلْمِ مُتَّسَعًا فَسِيْحًا

وَإِنَّ الْحُلْمَ بَابُ الْمُعْجِزَاتِ

The dream refused a spacious expansion

And the dream is the door of miracles

أَرَى لِلْحُلْمِ أَصْلًا مُسْتَنِيْرًا

يُكَمِّلُ شَكْلَهُ مِنْ نَيِّرَاتِ

I see the dream has an enlightened origin

That completes its form from rays

يُرَاوِدُ شَكَّهُ فِي كُلِّ عَيْنٍ

كَأَنَّ الشَّكَ مَنْطُوْقُ اللُّغَاتِ

It seduces its doubt in every eye

As if doubt is the spoken languages

إِذَنْ سَنَعُودُ نَلْفُظُ شَهْقَتَيْنِ

لَنَا طَعْمُ الْحَيَاةِ لَكَالْمَمَاتِ

So we will return to utter two sighs

The taste of life is like death to us

نُبَرْهِنُ إِنْ رَمَانَا الْمَوْتُ سَهْمًا

بِأَنَّا سَوْفَ نُوْلَدُ مِنْ رُفَاتِ

We prove that if death struck us with an arrow

We will be reborn from the remains

سَأَرْشُفُ رَشْفَتَيْنِ: دَمًا وَخَمْرًا

إِذَا وُئِدَ الْحَنِينُ مِنَ الْحَيَاةِ

I will sip two sips: blood and wine

If yearning is suppressed from life