أُصَوِّرُ صورَةً في التُربِ مِنها

أُصَوِّرُ صورَةً في التُربِ مِنها

وَأَبكي إِنَّ قَلبي في عَذابِ

وَأَبكي إِنَّ قَلبي في عَذابِ

I draw her likeness in the dust.

I draw a picture in the dust of her

And I weep: my heart is indeed in torment.

And I weep, for my heart is in torment

وَأَشكو هَجرَها مِنها إِلَيها

وَأَشكو هَجرَها مِنها إِلَيها

شِكايَةَ مُدنِفٍ عَظِمِ المُصابِ

شِكايَةَ مُدنِفٍ عَظِمِ المُصابِ

And to her I complain of the desertion I suffer from her,

And I complain to her of her abandonment

The complaint of one wasting away, grievously afflicted.

The complaint of one deeply afflicted

وَأَشكو ما لَقيتُ وَكُلَّ وَجدٍ

وَأَشكو ما لَقيتُ وَكُلَّ وَجدٍ

غَراماً بِالشِكايَةِ لِلتُرابِ

غَراماً بِالشِكايَةِ لِلتُرابِ

And I complain of what I have endured and every pang of longing,

And I complain of what I have endured, and of every passion

In love's anguish, making my complaint to the dust.

In love, lamenting to the dust