أَطلالُ لَهْوكَ قد أَقْوتْ مَغانِيها

أَطلالُ لَهْوكَ قد أَقْوتْ مَغانِيها

لم يَبقَ من عهدِها إِلا أثافيها

لم يَبقَ من عهدِها إِلا أثافيها

The ruins of your revelry—their dwellings have fallen desolate.

The ruins of your playfulness, its melodies now stilled,

Nothing remains of their former days but their hearthstones.

Nothing remains of that time but remnants.

هذي المفارِقُ قد قامَتْ شَواهدُها

هذي المفارِقُ قد قامَتْ شَواهدُها

على فَنائِكَ والدُّنيا تُزكِّيها

على فَنائِكَ والدُّنيا تُزكِّيها

These hair-partings—their witnesses have arisen

These partings bear witness, their evidence raised

To attest your demise, and the world vouches for them.

Over your oblivion - though time extols it daily.

الشَّيبُ سُفْتجَةٌ فيها مُعَنْونَةٌ

الشَّيبُ سُفْتجَةٌ فيها مُعَنْونَةٌ

لم يَبقَ للموتِ إِلا أَنْ يُسحِّيها

لم يَبقَ للموتِ إِلا أَنْ يُسحِّيها

Gray hair is a bill of exchange, addressed there;

Grey hairs are messages wherein death has writ

Nothing remains for death but to erase it.

All that remains is for death’s hand to erase.