قَد بَلَغتَ السِتينَ وَيحَكَ فَاِعلَم

قَد بَلَغتَ السِتينَ وَيحَكَ فَاِعلَم

أَنَّ ما بَعدَها عَلَيكَ تَلَوَّم

أَنَّ ما بَعدَها عَلَيكَ تَلَوَّم

You have reached sixty—alas for you! Know

You have reached sixty, so beware,

That whatever follows is a reprieve granted you.

For after it sorrow and grief are your share.

فَإِذا ما اِنقَضَت سِنوكَ وَوَلَّت

فَإِذا ما اِنقَضَت سِنوكَ وَوَلَّت

فَصَلَ الحاكِمُ القَضاءَ فَأَبرَم

فَصَلَ الحاكِمُ القَضاءَ فَأَبرَم

So when your years have run their course and passed,

When your years have passed and gone,

The Judge will pass sentence and make it final.

The Judge's decree cannot be withdrawn.

أَنتَ مِثلُ السِجِلِّ يُنشَرُ حيناً

أَنتَ مِثلُ السِجِلِّ يُنشَرُ حيناً

ثُمَّ يُطوى مِن بَعدِ ذاكَ وَيُختَم

ثُمَّ يُطوى مِن بَعدِ ذاكَ وَيُختَم

You are like a scroll, unrolled for a time,

You're like a scroll spread out for a while,

Then folded up afterward and sealed.

Then rolled up again, sealed the while.

كَيفَ يَلتَذُّ بِالحَياةِ لَبيبٌ

كَيفَ يَلتَذُّ بِالحَياةِ لَبيبٌ

فَوَّقَت نَحوَهُ المَنِيَّةُ أَسهُم

فَوَّقَت نَحوَهُ المَنِيَّةُ أَسهُم

How can a wise man delight in life

How can one who's wise joy in living,

When Death has aimed arrows at him?

When death's arrows at him are misgiving?

لَيسَ يَدري مَتى يُفاجيهِ مِنها

لَيسَ يَدري مَتى يُفاجيهِ مِنها

صائِبٌ يَقصِفُ الظُهورَ وَيَقصِم

صائِبٌ يَقصِفُ الظُهورَ وَيَقصِم

He knows not when one of them will strike him unawares—

None knows when those shafts will smite

A sure-hitting shaft that shatters backs and breaks them.

And pierce his back or his heart's core blight.

ما لِغُصني ذَوى وَكانَ نَضيراً

ما لِغُصني ذَوى وَكانَ نَضيراً

وَلِظَهري اِنحَنى وَكانَ مُقَوَّم

وَلِظَهري اِنحَنى وَكانَ مُقَوَّم

What ails my branch, now withered though once lush,

My branches withered though flourishing before,

And my back, now bent though once straight,

My back is bent though erect of yore,

وَلِحَدّي نَبا وَكانَ مُبيراً

وَلِحَدّي نَبا وَكانَ مُبيراً

وَلِجَيشي اِنثَنى وَكانَ عَرَمرَم

وَلِجَيشي اِنثَنى وَكانَ عَرَمرَم

And my edge, now dulled though once deadly,

My teeth are lost though gleaming in prime,

And my army, turned back though once vast,

My frame's enfeebled though stalwart in time.

وَلِدَهري أَدالَ شَرخَ شَبابي

وَلِدَهري أَدالَ شَرخَ شَبابي

بِمَشيَبٍ عِندَ الحِسانِ مُذَمَّم

بِمَشيَبٍ عِندَ الحِسانِ مُذَمَّم

And my days, which have exchanged the prime of my youth

My youth's abode time's fallen into decay

For gray hair, scorned by beautiful women?

With hoary elders' gibes I'm fraught all day.

فَأَنا اليَومَ عَن هَواهُنَّ سالٍ

فَأَنا اليَومَ عَن هَواهُنَّ سالٍ

وَقَديماً بِهُنَّ كُنتُ مُتَيَّم

وَقَديماً بِهُنَّ كُنتُ مُتَيَّم

So today I am free of longing for them,

Of passions youthful, now I've had my fill,

Though long ago I was enslaved by love of them.

Though once with yearning for them I did thrill.

لَو بِرَوقِ الزَمانِ يَنطَحُ يَوماً

لَو بِرَوقِ الزَمانِ يَنطَحُ يَوماً

رُكنُ ثَهلانَ هَدَّهُ فَتَهَدَّم

رُكنُ ثَهلانَ هَدَّهُ فَتَهَدَّم

If Time should ever strike with its horn,

If fate's lightning one day should strike

It would shatter Thahlan's flank and bring it crashing down.

The pillar Thráhlán, it would alike.

نَحنُ في مَنزِلِ الفَناءِ وَلَكِن

نَحنُ في مَنزِلِ الفَناءِ وَلَكِن

هُوَ بابٌ إِلى البَقاءِ وَسُلَّم

هُوَ بابٌ إِلى البَقاءِ وَسُلَّم

We are in the abode of mortality, yet

Though we're in death's abode, yet it is but

It is a door to eternity, and a ladder.

A gateway to life that leads from the rut.

وَرَحى المَوتِ تَستَديرُ عَلَينا

وَرَحى المَوتِ تَستَديرُ عَلَينا

أَبَداً تَطحَنُ الجَميعَ وَتَهشِم

أَبَداً تَطحَنُ الجَميعَ وَتَهشِم

And death's millstone turns upon us,

The mill of death forever turns round

Forever grinding everyone and crushing them.

Grinding all down into the ground.

وَأَنا موقِنٌ بِذاكَ عَليمٌ

وَأَنا موقِنٌ بِذاكَ عَليمٌ

وَفِعالي فِعالُ مَن لَيسَ يَعلَم

وَفِعالي فِعالُ مَن لَيسَ يَعلَم

And I am certain of this and know it well,

Of this I'm sure, I'm aware full well,

Yet my deeds are those of one who does not know.

My deeds are of one who knows not, nor can tell.

وَكَذا أَمتَطي الهُوَينا إِلى أَن

وَكَذا أَمتَطي الهُوَينا إِلى أَن

أُتَوَفّى فَعِندَ ذَلِكَ أَندَم

أُتَوَفّى فَعِندَ ذَلِكَ أَندَم

And so I ride at a leisurely pace, until

Yet still I ride passions' steed today

I am taken in death—then I shall regret it.

Until I'm summoned hence away.

فَعَسى مَن لَهُ أُعَفِّرُ وَجهي

فَعَسى مَن لَهُ أُعَفِّرُ وَجهي

سَيَرى فاقَتي إِلَيهِ فَيَرحَم

سَيَرى فاقَتي إِلَيهِ فَيَرحَم

So perhaps He for whom I lay my face in dust

Then surely I will regret and grieve

Will see my need of Him and have mercy.

The visage of my end I'll not perceive.

فَشَفيعي إِلَيهِ حُسنُ ظُنوني

فَشَفيعي إِلَيهِ حُسنُ ظُنوني

وَرَجائي لَهُ وَأَنّي مُسلِم

وَرَجائي لَهُ وَأَنّي مُسلِم

So my intercessor with Him is my trust in His goodness,

My intercessor be good thoughts I've nursed,

My hope in Him, and that I am a Muslim.

My hopes in Him in Whom I have faith immersed.

وَلَهُ الحَمدُ أَن هَداني لِهَذا

وَلَهُ الحَمدُ أَن هَداني لِهَذا

عَدَدَ القَطرِ ما الحَمامُ تَرَنَّم

عَدَدَ القَطرِ ما الحَمامُ تَرَنَّم

And to Him belongs praise for guiding me to this,

That He has guided me to this, thanks be to Him,

As many times as there are raindrops, as long as doves sing.

Numbered more drops than ever streamed from a fountain's brim.

وَإِلَيهِ ضَراعَتي وَاِبتِهالي

وَإِلَيهِ ضَراعَتي وَاِبتِهالي

في مُعافاةِ شَيبَتي مِن جَهَنَّم

في مُعافاةِ شَيبَتي مِن جَهَنَّم

And to Him I turn in pleading and supplication,

To Him my supplications and my prayers,

That my gray hairs may be spared Hell.

To protect me from hell in my failing years.