مَنwhoever يَخضُبُdyes الشَعَراتِthe hairs يُحسَبُis deemed ظالِماًa wrongdoer
مَن يَخضُبُ الشَعَراتِ يُحسَبُ ظالِماً
وَيُعَدُّand is judged أَخرَقَfoolish كَالظَليمِlike the male ostrich الخاضِبِred-legged
وَيُعَدُّ أَخرَقَ كَالظَليمِ الخاضِبِ
Whoever dyes his hair is deemed a wrongdoer,
and judged foolish, like the red-legged male ostrich.
وَالشَيبُand gray hair فيin لَونِthe color of الحُسامِthe sword فَلاso do not تَدَعleave
وَالشَيبُ في لَونِ الحُسامِ فَلا تَدَع
جَسَدَthe congealed mass of النَجيعِblood عَلىupon الحُسامِthe sword القاضِبِkeen-cutting
جَسَدَ النَجيعِ عَلى الحُسامِ القاضِبِ
And gray hair is the color of a sword; so do not leave
clotted blood upon the keen-cutting sword.
عُمريmy life غَديرٌa pool كُلُّall أَنفاسيmy breaths بِهِin it
عُمري غَديرٌ كُلُّ أَنفاسي بِهِ
جُرَعٌdraughts تُغادِرُهُleave it كَأَمسِlike yesterday الناضِبِdrained away
جُرَعٌ تُغادِرُهُ كَأَمسِ الناضِبِ
My life is a pool; all my breaths within it
are draughts that leave it like yesterday—drained away.