أَشدو وَتَشدو حَمامات الأَراك وَما

أَشدو وَتَشدو حَمامات الأَراك وَما

أَشجان هاتيك إِلّا بَعض أَشجاني

أَشجان هاتيك إِلّا بَعض أَشجاني

I sing, and the doves of the arak sing; and no

I plod on though doves in the bushes complain,

sorrows of theirs are anything but a portion of my own.

Their sad notes remind me of my sorrow and pain,

كَأَن مُنتَظِماً لِلارغوان عَلى الأَ

كَأَن مُنتَظِماً لِلارغوان عَلى الأَ

غصان مُنتَثر مِن دَمعيَ القاني

غصان مُنتَثر مِن دَمعيَ القاني

As though the redbud blossoms, arrayed upon the

As sweet-scented herbs on the branches remain

branches, were scattered from my crimson tears.

Specked with teardrops again and again.