لي صديقٌ أُفضِي إليهِ بسرّي

لي صديقٌ أُفضِي إليهِ بسرّي

وخبَايا صَدري ومكنونِ قَلبي

وخبَايا صَدري ومكنونِ قَلبي

I have a friend to whom I confide my secret,

I have a friend to whom I confide my secrets

And the hidden things in my breast, and what my heart conceals.

The innermost thoughts of my heart and mind

لا أرى دَونَه لسِرّيَ سِتراً

لا أرى دَونَه لسِرّيَ سِتراً

في مُناجاتِهِ ومضمونِ كُتبي

في مُناجاتِهِ ومضمونِ كُتبي

I see no veil hiding my secret from him,

I see no veil for my mysteries but him

In my private talks with him and the contents of my letters.

In my whispers to him and writings confined

لو أَتَتْنِي صحيفَتِي في حَياتِي

لو أَتَتْنِي صحيفَتِي في حَياتِي

قلتُ خُذها فانظرْ قبائِح ذَنبِي

قلتُ خُذها فانظرْ قبائِح ذَنبِي

If my record came to me in my lifetime,

If my scroll were to come to me during life

I would say, 'Take it and see the ugliness of my sin.'

I would say take it and see my sins inside

وهْو إن جاءَه كتابٌ طَواهُ

وهْو إن جاءَه كتابٌ طَواهُ

وطواهُ عَنّي اطِّراحاً لِعَتْبي

وطواهُ عَنّي اطِّراحاً لِعَتْبي

Yet if a letter reaches him, he folds it up,

And if a book came to him, he would fold it

And conceals it from me, casting aside my reproach.

Tossing aside my rebukes from his eyes

وأرَى أنَّ كُتْبَه لَيس فيها

وأرَى أنَّ كُتْبَه لَيس فيها

غيرُ سَبّي وغَيرُ نَقصِي وثَلبِي

غيرُ سَبّي وغَيرُ نَقصِي وثَلبِي

And I think his letters contain nothing

I see his books have no mention of my faults

But insults against me, disparagement, and slander.

No insults or deficiencies described

فلهذا عذرْتُه ولَعَمْري

فلهذا عذرْتُه ولَعَمْري

إنّ عذري لمؤلِمٌ مثلُ ضَربي

إنّ عذري لمؤلِمٌ مثلُ ضَربي

For this I excused him—and by my life,

So for this I've excused him, and by my life

My excusing him is indeed as painful as my blows.

My excuse is painful as a vicious strike