ياO راكِباًrider وَاللِوىand al-Liwa شَمالٌto the left
يا راكِباً وَاللِوى شَمالٌ
عَنof قَصدِهِhis course وَالغَضاand al-Ghada يَمينُto the right
عَن قَصدِهِ وَالغَضا يَمينُ
O rider, with al-Liwa to the left
O rider, turning left,
Of your course, and al-Ghada to the right,
Straying from his path, going right,
نَجداًtoward Najd عَلىdespite أَنَّهُits being طَريقٌa road
نَجداً عَلى أَنَّهُ طَريقٌ
تَقطَعُهُtraverse it لِلصِّباfor youthful love عُيونُeyes
تَقطَعُهُ لِلصِّبا عُيونُ
Bound for Najd, though it is a road
It's a road to Najd, as if
That eyes traverse in youthful longing.
Eyes have crossed it, blown by the northern wind.
وَحَيِّand greet عَنّيon my behalf إِنif جُزتَyou pass حَيّاًa tribe
وَحَيِّ عَنّي إِن جُزتَ حَيّاً
أَمضىthe sharpest مَواضيهُمُof their blades الجُفونُthe eyelids
أَمضى مَواضيهُمُ الجُفونُ
And greet on my behalf, if you pass a tribe
Greet them for me if you pass by greetings,
Whose sharpest blades are eyelids.
Their eyelids have walked its meadows.
وَقِلand rest at noon عَلىat أَيكَةٍa grove بِوادٍin a valley
وَقِل عَلى أَيكَةٍ بِوادٍ
لِلوُرقِfor the gray doves فيin قُضبِهاits boughs حَنينُa plaintive cry
لِلوُرقِ في قُضبِها حَنينُ
And rest at noon by a grove in a valley
And say, by a valley’s tamarisk:
Where gray doves lament among its boughs.
The leaves in its twigs murmur.
ياO أَيكُgrove لاnot يَدَّعيclaims حَمامٌdoves
يا أَيكُ لا يَدَّعي حَمامٌ
ماwhat يَجِدُfeels الشَيِّقُthe yearning one الحَزينُthe sorrowful
ما يَجِدُ الشَيِّقُ الحَزينُ
O grove, let no dove claim
O tamarisk, no pigeon claims
What the yearning, sorrowful one feels.
What the fervent, sad one finds.
لَوif أَنَّthat بِالوُرقِin the gray doves ماwhat بِقَلبيin my heart
لَو أَنَّ بِالوُرقِ ما بِقَلبي
لَاِحتَرَقَتwould burn تَحتَهاbeneath them الغُصونُthe boughs
لَاِحتَرَقَت تَحتَها الغُصونُ
If the gray doves had what is in my heart,
If leaves felt what’s in my heart
The boughs beneath them would burn.
The branches would burn beneath them.
Sol 6.1