فَتى الشَيخِ لا يَنفَكّ عَن ظَهرِ نَعلِهِ

فَتى الشَيخِ لا يَنفَكّ عَن ظَهرِ نَعلِهِ

كَثَقلِ حَديدٍ ما سِواهُ لَهُ راوي

كَثَقلِ حَديدٍ ما سِواهُ لَهُ راوي

The shaykh’s young man never parts from the back of his sandal,

The youth never leaves the old man's shoe

Like a burden of iron, with none but him to recount it.

Like heavy iron nothing else steadies him

بِرَبِّكَ اِبتِهاجاً في اللِقاءِ تَظُنُّهُ

بِرَبِّكَ اِبتِهاجاً في اللِقاءِ تَظُنُّهُ

وِداداً وَفِعلُ الغَدرِ في قَلبِهِ ثاوي

وِداداً وَفِعلُ الغَدرِ في قَلبِهِ ثاوي

By your Lord, you take his gladness at meeting

By your Lord, joyfully receiving him you’d think

For affection, while the act of treachery dwells in his heart.

Affection while betrayals set in his heart

يُلَفِّقُ في الناسِ المَساوي بِخَطِّهِ

يُلَفِّقُ في الناسِ المَساوي بِخَطِّهِ

رقاعاً فَلا يَنفَكُّ صَبّاً بِها غاوي

رقاعاً فَلا يَنفَكُّ صَبّاً بِها غاوي

He fabricates faults about people in his own handwriting,

Among people with his lines he patches together

On scraps of paper; so he remains enamored of them, misguided.

Scraps thus never ceasing, pouring into delusion