أَلِفتُI grew accustomed to الهَوىlove حَتّىuntil تَشَبَّثَclung بِيَto me الهَوىlove
أَلِفتُ الهَوى حَتّى تَشَبَّثَ بِيَ الهَوى
وَأَردَفَنيand seated me behind it مِنهُof its own عَلىon مَركَبٍa mount صَعبِheadstrong
وَأَردَفَني مِنهُ عَلى مَركَبٍ صَعبِ
I grew accustomed to love until love clung to me.
I have become accustomed to passion until passion has taken hold of me
And it seated me behind it on a headstrong mount of its own.
And mounted me on a difficult steed
كِتابِيَmy letter لاnot يَقرىhe reads وَماand what بيails me لاnot يَرىhe sees
كِتابِيَ لا يَقرى وَما بي لا يَرى
وَنارُand the fire الهَوىof love شَوقاًwith longing تُوَقَّدُis kindled فيin قَلبيmy heart
وَنارُ الهَوى شَوقاً تُوَقَّدُ في قَلبي
He does not read my letter, nor see what ails me.
My writings cannot be read and there is nothing to be seen in me
And the fire of love is kindled with longing in my heart.
And the fire of passion, out of yearning, is kindled in my heart
Sol 6.1