رُشِّيْ عَلَى عُتْمَتِيْ شَمْسًا وَوَجْهَ ضُحَى

رُشِّيْ عَلَى عُتْمَتِيْ شَمْسًا وَوَجْهَ ضُحَى

وَمَوْعِدًا يُنْبِتُ الأحْلامَ وَالْفَرَحَا

وَمَوْعِدًا يُنْبِتُ الأحْلامَ وَالْفَرَحَا

Sprinkle upon my darkness a sun and the face of midmorning,

Sprinkle on my darkness a sun and the face of morning,

And a rendezvous that makes dreams and joy sprout.

And a promise that grows dreams and joy.

رُشِّيْ عَلَيَّ اخْضِرَارًا يَرْتَدِيْ وَهَجًا

رُشِّيْ عَلَيَّ اخْضِرَارًا يَرْتَدِيْ وَهَجًا

وَلَمْلِمِيْ مَا تَنَاسَى نَأْيُنَا وَمَحَا

وَلَمْلِمِيْ مَا تَنَاسَى نَأْيُنَا وَمَحَا

Sprinkle over me greenness that wears a glow,

Sprinkle on me greenness that wears radiance,

And gather up what our separation chose to forget and erased.

And gather what our distance forgot and erased.

حُلْمٌ تَثَاءَبَ فِيْ جَفْنَيَّ وَهْم كَرَى

حُلْمٌ تَثَاءَبَ فِيْ جَفْنَيَّ وَهْم كَرَى

وَصَبَّ فِيْ مُقْلَتِيْ سِنَةَ الضُّحَى وَصَحَا

وَصَبَّ فِيْ مُقْلَتِيْ سِنَةَ الضُّحَى وَصَحَا

A dream yawned in my eyelids—an illusion of slumber—

A dream yawned in my eyelids and fanciful delusion,

And poured midmorning's drowsiness into my eye, and awoke.

And poured in my eyelashes the years of morning and wakefulness.

مَازَالَ يُوْقِظُ آهَاتِيْ وَيُشْعِلُهَا

مَازَالَ يُوْقِظُ آهَاتِيْ وَيُشْعِلُهَا

دِفْئًا وَيُضْرِمُ أَنْفَاسِيْ وَمَا بَرِحَا

دِفْئًا وَيُضْرِمُ أَنْفَاسِيْ وَمَا بَرِحَا

It still awakens my sighs and kindles them

It continues to awaken my sighs and ignite them,

Into warmth, and sets my breaths ablaze, never ceasing.

As warmth, and kindle my breaths which have not ceased.

هَاتِ اسْقِنِيْ غَيْمَةً . . تَدْنُو تُعَانِقُنِيْ

هَاتِ اسْقِنِيْ غَيْمَةً . . تَدْنُو تُعَانِقُنِيْ

أَوْ امْلَئِيْ مِنْ ضُرُوْعِ الْغَيْمِ لِيْ قَدَحَا

أَوْ امْلَئِيْ مِنْ ضُرُوْعِ الْغَيْمِ لِيْ قَدَحَا

Bring me a cloud to drink... one that draws near and embraces me,

Give me a cloud to drink...that comes near and embraces me,

Or fill me a cup from the udders of the clouds.

Or fill for me from the clouds' teats a goblet.

فَهَا هُنَا غَرَّدَ الْعُصْفُوْرُ فَوْقَ فَمِيْ

فَهَا هُنَا غَرَّدَ الْعُصْفُوْرُ فَوْقَ فَمِيْ

وَهَا هُنَا فِيْ دَمِيْ طَيْرُ الْهَوَى صَدَحَا

وَهَا هُنَا فِيْ دَمِيْ طَيْرُ الْهَوَى صَدَحَا

So here, behold, the sparrow warbled above my mouth,

And here in my blood the bird of passion has caroled.

And here, behold, in my blood, the bird of love sang out.

There is languor on my balcony, its sprinkling is thirst,

وَشْلٌ عَلَى شُرْفَتِيْ رَشْرَاشهُ عَطَشٌ

وَشْلٌ عَلَى شُرْفَتِيْ رَشْرَاشهُ عَطَشٌ

وَفِيْ سَمَائِيْ بُرُوْقٌ تَنْثُُر الْمَرَحَا

وَفِيْ سَمَائِيْ بُرُوْقٌ تَنْثُُر الْمَرَحَا

A trickle on my balcony—its spray is thirst,

And in my sky lightnings that scatter playfulness.

And in my sky, flashes of lightning scatter merriment.

My soil has not grown plants nor my trees

لا تُرْبَتِيْ أَنْبَتَتْ عُشْبًا وَلا شَجَرِيْ

لا تُرْبَتِيْ أَنْبَتَتْ عُشْبًا وَلا شَجَرِيْ

عَطَاؤُهُ بِالْجَنَى مِنْ فَرْعِهِ سَمَحَا

عَطَاؤُهُ بِالْجَنَى مِنْ فَرْعِهِ سَمَحَا

Neither has my soil sprouted grass, nor have my trees

Given fruit from their branches generously.

Freely bestowed their bounty of fruit from their branches.

And here I am...neither awake, nor thirsty,

وَهَا أَنَا .. لا أَنَا صَحْوٌ وَلا غَطَشٌ

وَهَا أَنَا .. لا أَنَا صَحْوٌ وَلا غَطَشٌ

وَلا انْبِلاجُ صَبَاحٍ أُفْقُهُ وَضُحَا

وَلا انْبِلاجُ صَبَاحٍ أُفْقُهُ وَضُحَا

And here I am... I am neither clear sky nor darkness,

Nor the radiance of a dawning morning.

Nor the breaking of a morning whose horizon has grown clear.