وأَشرقَني الجريضُ فلا قريضٌ

وأَشرقَني الجريضُ فلا قريضٌ

وأَثخنَني الكِلامُ فلا كَلامُ

وأَثخنَني الكِلامُ فلا كَلامُ

And choking grief has stifled me, so there is no verse;

The wound left me shining, without a bandage,

And wounds have laid me low, so there is no speech;

And words left me pierced, without speech,

فما لجيادِ أَشعاري صَهيلٌ

فما لجيادِ أَشعاري صَهيلٌ

ولا لظباءِ آدابي بُغام

ولا لظباءِ آدابي بُغام

So the steeds of my poems have no neigh,

So why do the steeds of my poetry have no neighing,

Nor do the gazelles of my literary works have a bleat.

And the does of my literature no bellowing?