ماhow أَنكَأَwound-aggravating البَينَparting لِقَرحِto the wounds of القُلوبhearts
ما أَنكَأَ البَينَ لِقَرحِ القُلوب
شَيَّبَmade gray رأَسيmy head قَبلَbefore حينِthe time of المَشيبgraying
شَيَّبَ رأَسي قَبلَ حينِ المَشيب
How cruelly separation reopens the wounds of hearts!
How grievously parting reopens the wounds of hearts!
It turned my hair gray before the time of graying;
It has turned my hair gray before the time for graying.
أَنحَلَemaciated جِسميmy body وَبَرىand wore down أَعظُميmy bones
أَنحَلَ جِسمي وَبَرى أَعظُمي
لَذعُthe sting of حَراراتِthe burning heat of فِراقِparting from الحَبيبthe beloved
لَذعُ حَراراتِ فِراقِ الحَبيب
my body was wasted, my bones worn away
My body has been wasted and my bones worn down
by the scorching pangs of parting from the beloved.
by the sting of the burning heat of parting from the beloved.
لَمdid not يَذُقِtaste البُؤسَmisery وَلاnor طَعمَهُits taste
لَم يَذُقِ البُؤسَ وَلا طَعمَهُ
مَنwhoever لَيسَis not مِنof جُهدِthe hardship of الهَوىlove ذاpossessed of نَصيبa share
مَن لَيسَ مِن جُهدِ الهَوى ذا نَصيب
Neither misery nor even its taste has he known
He has tasted neither misery nor its savor
who has no share in love’s travail.
who has no share in love's anguish.
أَشكوI complain إِلىto اللَهُGod هَوىlove for شادِنٍa young gazelle
أَشكو إِلى اللَهُ هَوى شادِنٍ
يَمُرُّhe passes بيby me يَهتَزُّhe sways مِثلَlike القَضيبthe slender branch
يَمُرُّ بي يَهتَزُّ مِثلَ القَضيب
To God I complain of passion for a young gazelle
I complain to God of love for a young gazelle
who passes me, swaying like a supple bough—
who passes by me, swaying like a slender branch,
مُنَعَّمٍpampered كالبَدرِlike the full moon فيin طَرفِهِhis gaze
مُنَعَّمٍ كالبَدرِ في طَرفِهِ
سِحرٌmagic بِهِwith it يَجنيhe harvests ثِمارَthe fruits of القُلوبhearts
سِحرٌ بِهِ يَجني ثِمارَ القُلوب
delicate as the full moon; in his glance
delicately nurtured, like the full moon; in his gaze
is magic with which he harvests the fruits of hearts.
is magic with which he harvests the fruits of hearts.
أَورَثَbequeathed to قَلبيmy heart مِنfrom جَوىthe burning anguish of حُبِّهِlove for him
أَورَثَ قَلبي مِن جَوى حُبِّهِ
داءًan illness عَياءًincurable ماnot لَهُfor it مِنany طَبيبphysician
داءً عَياءً ما لَهُ مِن طَبيب
His love’s consuming anguish has left my heart
He has bequeathed to my heart, through the burning anguish of loving him,
an incurable sickness for which there is no physician.
an incurable sickness for which there is no physician.
