بِنَفسِيَ مَن يَنتابُني وَيَعودُني

بِنَفسِيَ مَن يَنتابُني وَيَعودُني

وَيَسأَلُ ما بي وَهوَ بِالداءِ عارِفُ

وَيَسأَلُ ما بي وَهوَ بِالداءِ عارِفُ

My life be ransom for him who comes to me often and visits me in sickness,

With my own self, who comes to me and returns

and asks what ails me, though he knows the malady.

And asks how I am, though he knows of my pain

يَعودُ وِسادي وَهوَ جَذلانُ ناعِمٌ

يَعودُ وِسادي وَهوَ جَذلانُ ناعِمٌ

وَيَرجِعُ عَنّي وَهوَ أَسوانُ لاهِفُ

وَيَرجِعُ عَنّي وَهوَ أَسوانُ لاهِفُ

He visits my pillow, joyful and at ease,

Returns to my pillow, blissful and content

and goes away from me sorrowful and anguished.

Then leaves me restless, fretful and stiff

وَمُعتَذِرٍ عَمّا جَنى بِصُدودِهِ

وَمُعتَذِرٍ عَمّا جَنى بِصُدودِهِ

أَتى وَهوَ بَينَ الذَنبِ وَالعُذرِ واقِفُ

أَتى وَهوَ بَينَ الذَنبِ وَالعُذرِ واقِفُ

And one seeking pardon for the wrong his shunning wrought

With excuses for the wrong he has done

came, standing between guilt and excuse.

He came torn between guilt and excuses

يُريدُ اِعتِذاراً وَالحَياءُ يَصُدُّهُ

يُريدُ اِعتِذاراً وَالحَياءُ يَصُدُّهُ

وَهَل يَنفَعُ العُذرُ الفَتى وَهوَ تَالِفُ

وَهَل يَنفَعُ العُذرُ الفَتى وَهوَ تَالِفُ

He wishes to apologize, but shame holds him back;

Wanting to apologize but shyness holds him back

and can an excuse help a young man who is perishing?

What good are excuses when one is in the wrong?

وَهَبتُ عِتابي كُلَّهُ لِجَفائِهِ

وَهَبتُ عِتابي كُلَّهُ لِجَفائِهِ

وَقَد كانَ عِندي لِلعِتابِ صَحائِفُ

وَقَد كانَ عِندي لِلعِتابِ صَحائِفُ

I waived all my reproaches against his coldness,

I forgave all his coldness towards me

though I had pages of reproach:

Though I had books filled with reproaches for him

صَحائِفُ عَتبٍ طَيُّها كامِنُ الأَسى

صَحائِفُ عَتبٍ طَيُّها كامِنُ الأَسى

وَعُنوانُها فَيضٌ مِنَ الدَمعِ ذارِفُ

وَعُنوانُها فَيضٌ مِنَ الدَمعِ ذارِفُ

pages of reproach, with hidden sorrow in their folds,

Books of reproach whose pages brimmed with sorrow

and their heading a streaming flood of tears.

And were titled with copious flowing tears

جَوى مِثلُ أَطرافِ الأَسِنَّةِ كُلَّما

جَوى مِثلُ أَطرافِ الأَسِنَّةِ كُلَّما

تَصَرَّمَ مِنهُ تالِدٌ عادَ طارِفُ

تَصَرَّمَ مِنهُ تالِدٌ عادَ طارِفُ

Heartache like the tips of spearheads: whenever

Secrets like the edges of sharp tongues, each time

an old pang of it fades away, a new one returns.

One is cut by them, a new one appears, keen and slicing

إِذا قُلتُ هَذا حينَ يُؤسى جِراحُهُ

إِذا قُلتُ هَذا حينَ يُؤسى جِراحُهُ

أُعيدَ لَهُ مِن لاعِجِ الحُبِّ قارِفُ

أُعيدَ لَهُ مِن لاعِجِ الحُبِّ قارِفُ

When I say, 'Now is the time for its wounds to heal,'

When I say this as his wound agonizes

a torment from love's burning returns to tear them open.

The salve of love flows from me, healing and staunching

هُوَ الكَلمُ قَد أَعيى الأُساةَ عِلاجُهُ

هُوَ الكَلمُ قَد أَعيى الأُساةَ عِلاجُهُ

فَلَيسَ لَهُ إِلّا الحَبيبُ المُساعِفُ

فَلَيسَ لَهُ إِلّا الحَبيبُ المُساعِفُ

It is the wound whose treatment has baffled the healers,

These words cannot cure the hurt, though I try

so it has no helper but the beloved.

Except the efforts of the loving beloved to dress the wound anew