وَصِبيَةٍand children مِثلِlike فِراخِthe young of الذُرِtiny ants
وَصِبيَةٍ مِثلِ فِراخِ الذُرِ
سودِblack الوُجوهِthe faces كَسَوادِlike the blackness of القِدرِthe cooking pot
سودِ الوُجوهِ كَسَوادِ القِدرِ
And children like the young of tiny ants,
Like fledglings of the sparrow
Black of face, as black as a cooking pot.
Black-faced, as black as a cooking pot
جاءَcame الشِتاءُwinter وَهُمُand they بِشَرِّin misery
جاءَ الشِتاءُ وَهُمُ بِشَرِّ
بِغَيرِwithout قُمصٍshirts وَبِغَيرِand without أُزرِwaistcloths
بِغَيرِ قُمصٍ وَبِغَيرِ أُزرِ
Winter came, and they were in misery,
Winter came, and they were delighted
Without shirts and without waistcloths.
With neither shirt nor wrap
حَتّىuntil إِذاwhen لاحَappeared عَمودُthe pillar of الفَجرِdawn
حَتّى إِذا لاحَ عَمودُ الفَجرِ
وَجاءَنيand came to me الصُبحُmorning غَدَوتُI set out in the morning أَسريI journey
وَجاءَني الصُبحُ غَدَوتُ أَسري
Until, when the pillar of dawn appeared,
Until the pillar of dawn appeared
And morning came to me, I set out on my way,
And morning came to me, I set out quickly
وَبَعضُهُمand some of them مُلتَصِقٌclinging بِصَدريto my chest
وَبَعضُهُم مُلتَصِقٌ بِصَدري
وَبَعضُهُمand some of them مُنجَحِرٌburrowed away بِحِجريin my lap
وَبَعضُهُم مُنجَحِرٌ بِحِجري
And some of them clung to my chest,
Some clinging to my chest
And some of them had burrowed into my lap,
Some curled up against my wall
أَسبِقُهُمI go ahead of them إِلىto أُصولِthe bases of الجُدرِthe walls
أَسبِقُهُم إِلى أُصولِ الجُدرِ
هذاthis جَميعُall of قِصَّتيmy story وَأَمريand my plight
هذا جَميعُ قِصَّتي وَأَمري
I go ahead of them to the foot of the walls.
I race them to the roots of walls
This is my whole story and my plight.
This is the whole of my tale and my matter
فَاِرحَمso have mercy on عِياليmy family وَتَوَلَّand take charge of أَمريmy affairs
فَاِرحَم عِيالي وَتَوَلَّ أَمري
كُنّيتُI gave a byname to نَفسيmyself كُنيَةًa byname فيin شِعريmy poetry
كُنّيتُ نَفسي كُنيَةً في شِعري
So have mercy on my family and take charge of my affairs.
So have mercy on my dependents and take over my matter
I gave myself a byname in my poetry:
I nicknamed myself in my poetry
أَناI أَبوthe father of الفَقرِpoverty وَأُمِّand the mother of الفَقرِpoverty
أَنا أَبو الفَقرِ وَأُمِّ الفَقرِ
I am the Father of Poverty and the Mother of Poverty.
I am the father of poverty and the mother of poverty