غُبِقنا الأَذى وَالجاشِرِيَّةُ هَمُّنا

غُبِقنا الأَذى وَالجاشِرِيَّةُ هَمُّنا

وَنادى ظَلامٌ لا سَبيلَ إِلى الجَشرِ

وَنادى ظَلامٌ لا سَبيلَ إِلى الجَشرِ

We were given harm as an evening draught; the dawn draught is our concern.

We were overcome with harm and fear consumed us,

And darkness cried: there is no way to daybreak.

And darkness called with no way to salvation.

أَتَكتُبُ سَطراً لَيسَ فيهِ تَخَوُّفٌ

أَتَكتُبُ سَطراً لَيسَ فيهِ تَخَوُّفٌ

لِرَبِّكَ ما أَولى بَنانَكَ بِالأَشرِ

لِرَبِّكَ ما أَولى بَنانَكَ بِالأَشرِ

Do you write a line in which there is no fear

Shall I write a line with no apprehension

of your Lord? How your fingertips deserve the saw!

Of your Lord? How apt are your fingers for harm!

وَإِن بُتِكَت عَشرٌ فَمِن بَعدِ ما جَنَت

وَإِن بُتِكَت عَشرٌ فَمِن بَعدِ ما جَنَت

بِكُلِّ فَسيطٍ قُضَّ أَكثَرَ مِن عَشرِ

بِكُلِّ فَسيطٍ قُضَّ أَكثَرَ مِن عَشرِ

And if ten fingers are severed, it is after they have committed

And if ten are appointed, after what they reaped,

more than ten wrongs with each snapped-off nail-paring.

More than ten are destined for each harvest.

وَما زالَتِ الأَيّامُ يُبشُرُ صَرفُها

وَما زالَتِ الأَيّامُ يُبشُرُ صَرفُها

أَديمِيَ حَتّى ما يَحِسُّ مِنَ البَشرِ

أَديمِيَ حَتّى ما يَحِسُّ مِنَ البَشرِ

And the days' vicissitudes keep scraping

The days have not ceased to portend in their circuit

my skin, until it no longer feels the scraping.

Eternal woe, so that I feel no gladness.

وَحِبرِيَ أَودى بِالمَدى فَكَأَنَّهُ

وَحِبرِيَ أَودى بِالمَدى فَكَأَنَّهُ

جَديدٌ مُدىً أَنحَت لِحِبرِكَ بِالقَشرِ

جَديدٌ مُدىً أَنحَت لِحِبرِكَ بِالقَشرِ

And my beauty has perished with time, as though it were

And my ink has wrought havoc on the page, as though

a fresh hide, with blades bent on scraping away your ink.

It were new, carving your ink's hull with peel.

وَأَعجَبُ ما تَخشاهُ دَعوَةُ هاتِفٍ

وَأَعجَبُ ما تَخشاهُ دَعوَةُ هاتِفٍ

أَتَيتُم فَهُبّوا يانِيامُ إِلى الحَشرِ

أَتَيتُم فَهُبّوا يانِيامُ إِلى الحَشرِ

And the strangest thing you fear is an unseen caller's summons:

Most wondrous is the call of a summoner I fear:

You have arrived! Arise, O sleepers, to the resurrection gathering!

"You have come, so rally, O slumbering, to the assembly."

فَيا لَيتَنا عِشنا حَياةً بِلا رَدىً

فَيا لَيتَنا عِشنا حَياةً بِلا رَدىً

يَدَ الدَهرِ أَو مُتنا مَماتاً بِلا نَشرِ

يَدَ الدَهرِ أَو مُتنا مَماتاً بِلا نَشرِ

So, if only we could live a life without death,

Would that we had lived a life without misery,

for all time—or die a death without resurrection.

By the hand of fate, or died a death without agony.