وَكاشِحٍ خَامَرَتْ أَلْحاظَهُ سِنَةٌ

وَكاشِحٍ خَامَرَتْ أَلْحاظَهُ سِنَةٌ

تَرَكْتُهُ وَهْوَ مِنْ جَفْنَيْهِ تَنْتَفِضُ

تَرَكْتُهُ وَهْوَ مِنْ جَفْنَيْهِ تَنْتَفِضُ

And many a spiteful foe whose eyes drowsiness had overtaken—

A yearning hand touched by the years

I left him as it shook itself free of his eyelids.

I left him with eyelids aflutter

فَظَلَّ مُرْتَعِدَ العِرْنينِ مِنْ غَضَبٍ

فَظَلَّ مُرْتَعِدَ العِرْنينِ مِنْ غَضَبٍ

وَسَوْرَةُ التِّيهِ في عِطْفَيّ تَرْتَكِضُ

وَسَوْرَةُ التِّيهِ في عِطْفَيّ تَرْتَكِضُ

So he remained, the bridge of his nose trembling with anger,

So he remained, nostrils flaring in anger

while a surge of pride leapt within my sides.

While the poem of bewilderment quivered upon my shoulder

أَنا الشَّجا وَالعِدا مِنْهُ على مَضَضٍ

أَنا الشَّجا وَالعِدا مِنْهُ على مَضَضٍ

بِحَيْثُ تَعْتَرِكُ الأَنْفاسُ يَعْتَرِضُ

بِحَيْثُ تَعْتَرِكُ الأَنْفاسُ يَعْتَرِضُ

I am the bone lodged in the throat, and my foes suffer pain from it;

I am the thorn bush, he the foe writhing in pain

it lodges where breaths clash.

Where panting breaths grapple and twist