عَسى وَلَدي الَّذي قَد شَدَّ أَزري

عَسى وَلَدي الَّذي قَد شَدَّ أَزري

وَلَم تَكُ أَسهُمي ريشَت فَراشا

وَلَم تَكُ أَسهُمي ريشَت فَراشا

May my son, who had strengthened my back,

May my son, who has girded my loins,

May my son, who has strengthened my support,

—and my arrows were not fletched with soft down—

And whose arrows have not been feathered to fly aimlessly,

And my arrows were not fletched with moth-wings,

يَطوفُ غَداً بِكَأسٍ مِن مَعينِ

يَطوفُ غَداً بِكَأسٍ مِن مَعينِ

عَلَيَّ إِذا الوَرى بثّوا فراشا

عَلَيَّ إِذا الوَرى بثّوا فراشا

come round tomorrow with a cup from a flowing spring

Roam tomorrow with a cup from a spring,

Bear round to me, Tomorrow, a cup from the pure spring,

to me, when humankind is scattered like moths.

To pour upon me when people strew my grave with soil.

When all mankind is scattered like moths.