مَنَعَ البَقاءَ تَقَلُّبُ الشَمسِ

مَنَعَ البَقاءَ تَقَلُّبُ الشَمسِ

وَطُلوعُها مِن حَيثُ لا تُمسي

وَطُلوعُها مِن حَيثُ لا تُمسي

The sun's changing course denies permanence,

The sun's revolving denies existence

And its rising from where it does not set,

And it rises from where it never sets

وَطُلوعُها حَمراءَ صافِيَةً

وَطُلوعُها حَمراءَ صافِيَةً

وَغُروبُها صَفراءُ كَالوَرسِ

وَغُروبُها صَفراءُ كَالوَرسِ

And its rising, red and clear,

Its rising, pure red

And its setting, yellow as wars dye.

And its setting, yellow like mimosa

تَجري عَلى كَبِدِ السَماءِ كَما

تَجري عَلى كَبِدِ السَماءِ كَما

يَجري حِمامُ المَوتِ في النَفسِ

يَجري حِمامُ المَوتِ في النَفسِ

It courses across the heart of the sky, as

It flows on the sky's liver as

The doom of death courses through the soul.

The pigeons of death flow in the soul