وَقَدand indeed سَئِمتُI have grown weary of مُقامِيmy stay بَينَamong شِرذِمَةٍa small band
وَقَد سَئِمتُ مُقامِي بَينَ شِرذِمَةٍ
إِذاwhenever نَظَرتُI look إِلَيهِمat them قَطَّبَتْfrown هِمَميmy aspirations
إِذا نَظَرتُ إِلَيهِم قَطَّبَتْ هِمَمي
And I have grown weary of my stay among a petty band;
I'm tired of living amongst the rabble,
Whenever I look at them, my aspirations frown.
When I look at them, my will sours.
أَراذِلٌbase men مَلَكواthey possessed الدُّنياthe world وَأَوجُهُهُمand their faces
أَراذِلٌ مَلَكوا الدُّنيا وَأَوجُهُهُم
لَمdid not يَكشِفِremove الفَقرَpoverty عَنهاfrom them بَهجَةُthe splendor of النِّعَمِblessings
لَم يَكشِفِ الفَقرَ عَنها بَهجَةُ النِّعَمِ
Base men have taken possession of the world, yet their faces—
The dregs own the world, yet on their faces,
The splendor of blessings has not lifted poverty from them.
Poverty has not unveiled the radiance of bounty.