وَخُطَّةٍ مِنْ بُيوتِ الحَيِّ زُرْتُ بِها

وَخُطَّةٍ مِنْ بُيوتِ الحَيِّ زُرْتُ بِها

بِيضاً يَهُزُّ الصِّبا مِنْهُنَّ أَعْطافَا

بِيضاً يَهُزُّ الصِّبا مِنْهُنَّ أَعْطافَا

And in a quarter among the tribe’s dwellings I visited

A plan I had to visit the homes of the neighborhood,

fair-skinned women, whose forms youth sets swaying,

White houses, shaken by the breeze their curtains billowing,

هِيفاً تَخِفُّ إِذا حَاوَلْنَ مُنْتَهَضاً

هِيفاً تَخِفُّ إِذا حَاوَلْنَ مُنْتَهَضاً

خُصُورُهُنَّ وَيَسْتَثْقِلْنَ أَرْدافا

خُصُورُهُنَّ وَيَسْتَثْقِلْنَ أَرْدافا

slender-waisted: when they try to rise, light are

Swaying gently when they try to stand erect,

their waists, though they find their hips heavy.

Their frames too weak, their hips too heavy to lift.

وَهُنَّ يَبْسِمْنَ عَنْ غُرٍّ كَشَفْنَ بِها

وَهُنَّ يَبْسِمْنَ عَنْ غُرٍّ كَشَفْنَ بِها

عَنِ اللَّآلِئِ لِلرَّائِينَ أَصْدافا

عَنِ اللَّآلِئِ لِلرَّائِينَ أَصْدافا

And they smile, revealing gleaming teeth, thereby drawing back

Smiling, their pearls they show, parted lips reveal

shells from pearls for those who look.

Gleaming teeth displayed for all who come to see.

وَيَرْتَمينَ بِنَبْلٍ يَتِّخِذْنَ لَها ال

وَيَرْتَمينَ بِنَبْلٍ يَتِّخِذْنَ لَها ال

قُلوبَ عِنْدَ اسْتِراقِ اللَّحْظِ أَهْدافا

قُلوبَ عِنْدَ اسْتِراقِ اللَّحْظِ أَهْدافا

And they shoot arrows, making

Arrows of the eye their weapons for hearts to steal

hearts their targets as they steal glances.

From yearning souls who dare to glance and flee.

وَالشَّيْبُ خَيَّطَ في فَوْدي كَما نَشَرَتْ

وَالشَّيْبُ خَيَّطَ في فَوْدي كَما نَشَرَتْ

يَدُ الصَّبا لِرياضِ الحَزْنِ أَفْوافا

يَدُ الصَّبا لِرياضِ الحَزْنِ أَفْوافا

And gray hair stitched across my temple, just as

In my hair's dark waves, grey strands the years did weave,

the east wind’s hand spread striped cloths over the upland meadows.

Like lines etched in sand where youth's carefree days played.

فَلَمْ يَرُعْني سِوى أَيْدٍ أَنامِلُها

فَلَمْ يَرُعْني سِوى أَيْدٍ أَنامِلُها

مَخْضُوبَةٌ مِنْ دَمِ العُشّاقِ أَطْرافا

مَخْضُوبَةٌ مِنْ دَمِ العُشّاقِ أَطْرافا

So nothing startled me but hands whose fingers

Only hands drew my gaze, henna-traced fingertips

were stained at the tips with lovers’ blood.

Dyed red from the blood of lovers whose hearts strayed.

بَسَطْنها لِوَداعِي حينَ فارَقَني

بَسَطْنها لِوَداعِي حينَ فارَقَني

لَيْلُ الشَّبابِ وَصُبْحُ الشَّيبِ قَدْ وافَى

لَيْلُ الشَّبابِ وَصُبْحُ الشَّيبِ قَدْ وافَى

They stretched them out to bid me farewell, when I was parted from

Reaching out in farewell as nights of youth depart

the night of youth, and the dawn of gray hair had arrived.

And mornings of old age arrive to stay.