إيهٍ أَبا البَحرِ وَالأَيّامُ قاطِعَةٌ

إيهٍ أَبا البَحرِ وَالأَيّامُ قاطِعَةٌ

وَالشَّوقُ يَتعَبُ بَينِ النَّفسِ وَالنَّفسِ

وَالشَّوقُ يَتعَبُ بَينِ النَّفسِ وَالنَّفسِ

Speak on, Abu al-Bahr, while the days sever ties,

O father of the sea and the days are cutting

And longing grows weary between soul and soul.

And longing tires between the soul and the soul

عِندي لِفَقدِكَ أَوجالٌ أَبيتُ بِها

عِندي لِفَقدِكَ أَوجالٌ أَبيتُ بِها

كَأَنَّني واضِعٌ كَفّي عَلى قَبَسِ

كَأَنَّني واضِعٌ كَفّي عَلى قَبَسِ

I have fears at your loss, with which I pass the night,

For missing you I have sorrows in which I stayed up

As though I were placing my palm upon a burning brand.

As if I am putting my palms on embers

وَلا مَلامَةَ إِن لَم أُهدِ نَيِّرَةً

وَلا مَلامَةَ إِن لَم أُهدِ نَيِّرَةً

حَتّى تَمُدَّ إِلَيها كَفَّ مُقتَبِسِ

حَتّى تَمُدَّ إِلَيها كَفَّ مُقتَبِسِ

And there is no blame if I offer nothing radiant,

No blame if I did not give light

Until you reach toward it with the hand of one seeking a flame.

Until you extend to it the palm of the lighter

قَد كُنتُ أُودِعُ سِرَّ الشَّوقِ في طُرُسٍ

قَد كُنتُ أُودِعُ سِرَّ الشَّوقِ في طُرُسٍ

لَكِنَّني خِفتُ أَن يَعدو عَلى الطُّرُسِ

لَكِنَّني خِفتُ أَن يَعدو عَلى الطُّرُسِ

I once used to entrust the secret of longing to pages,

I used to confide the secret of longing in turtledoves

But I feared that it would assail the pages.

But I feared it would transgress on the turtledoves