قَد تَخَوَّفتُ أَن أَموتَ مِنَ الشَو

قَد تَخَوَّفتُ أَن أَموتَ مِنَ الشَو

قِ وَلَم يَدرِ مَن هَوَيتُ بِما بي

قِ وَلَم يَدرِ مَن هَوَيتُ بِما بي

I have feared that I might die of long—

I feared that I would die of passion

—ing, while the one I love knows nothing of my plight.

And no one would know who it was I loved

يا كِتابي اِقرَإِ السَلامَ عَلى مَن

يا كِتابي اِقرَإِ السَلامَ عَلى مَن

لا أُسَمّي وَقُل لَهُ يا كِتابي

لا أُسَمّي وَقُل لَهُ يا كِتابي

O my letter, convey greetings to the one

O my poem, convey my greetings

I do not name; and say to him, O my letter:

To the one I do not name, and say:

إِنَّ كَفاً إِلَيكُمُ كَتَبَتني

إِنَّ كَفاً إِلَيكُمُ كَتَبَتني

لِشَقيٌ فُؤَدُها في عَذابِ

لِشَقيٌ فُؤَدُها في عَذابِ

Indeed, a hand has written me to you—

“O my poem, it was an agonized hand

Its heart is surely wretched, in torment.

That wrote me, a wretched heart in torment.”

فَإِذا ما قَرَأتُموني فَحِنّوا

فَإِذا ما قَرَأتُموني فَحِنّوا

وَارحَموا كاتِبي وَرُدّوا جَوابي

وَارحَموا كاتِبي وَرُدّوا جَوابي

So when you read me, show tenderness,

So when you are read, show pity,

And have mercy on my writer, and send back a reply to me.

Have mercy on my writer, and send a reply.