على قلمي تكاثرت الجروح

على قلمي تكاثرت الجروح

فما يَدْري بأيِّ أسىً يَبُوحُ

فما يَدْري بأيِّ أسىً يَبُوحُ

Upon my pen, wounds have multiplied,

My pen is wounded with many scars

so it does not know which sorrow to voice.

It knows not what sadness it pours

كأنَّ برأس ريشته دُوَاراً

كأنَّ برأس ريشته دُوَاراً

وثغراً من مَواجعها يصيح

وثغراً من مَواجعها يصيح

As though the tip of its nib were dizzy,

As if at the tip of its feather a wall

and a mouth cried out from its pains.

And from its agonies a mouth that shrieks

إذا أمسكتُه لأَخُطَّ حَرْفاً

إذا أمسكتُه لأَخُطَّ حَرْفاً

تَلَجْلَج نُطْقُه وهو الفَصيحُ

تَلَجْلَج نُطْقُه وهو الفَصيحُ

When I take hold of it to write a letter,

When I hold it to write a letter

its speech falters, though it is eloquent.

Its speech stutters though it's eloquent

أُضاحكه بأنغام القوافي

أُضاحكه بأنغام القوافي

فأشعر أنَّه عنِّي يُشِيحُ

فأشعر أنَّه عنِّي يُشِيحُ

I share laughter with it through the melodies of rhymes,

I joke with it with rhyming tunes

and feel that it turns away from me.

Yet I feel it turns away from me

على قلبي من الأعباءِ حِمْلٌ

على قلبي من الأعباءِ حِمْلٌ

وفي أعماقِه حُلُمٌ يَنُوحُ

وفي أعماقِه حُلُمٌ يَنُوحُ

A load of burdens lies upon my heart,

On my heart loads of burdens

and in its depths a dream laments.

And in its depths a dream that weeps

يثور عليه موجٌ من أنيني

يثور عليه موجٌ من أنيني

وتعصف بالزَّوارقِ فيه رِيحُ

وتعصف بالزَّوارقِ فيه رِيحُ

A wave of my groaning surges against it,

A wave of my groans storms it

and a wind batters the boats within it.

And in it a wind blows the boats

تؤجِّج حبرَه آلامُ قلبي

تؤجِّج حبرَه آلامُ قلبي

فظاهره كباطنه يَفُوح

فظاهره كباطنه يَفُوح

My heart's pains set its ink ablaze,

My heart's pains ignite its ink

so its exterior, like its interior, gives off a scent.

So its outside like its inside oozes

وكم حاولتُ صَرْفَ أسايَ عنه

وكم حاولتُ صَرْفَ أسايَ عنه

فلم أُفلحْ ولم تَزُلِ القُروحُ

فلم أُفلحْ ولم تَزُلِ القُروحُ

And how often I have tried to turn my sorrow away from it,

And how I tried to divert my sorrows from it

but I did not succeed, and the sores did not disappear.

But did not succeed and the wounds remained

كأنَّ الحِبْرَ في قلمي دموعٌ

كأنَّ الحِبْرَ في قلمي دموعٌ

على وجناتِ أوراقي تَسيحُ

على وجناتِ أوراقي تَسيحُ

As though the ink in my pen were tears,

It's as if the ink in my pen is tears

flowing over the cheeks of my pages.

That flow on the cheeks of its pages