ماعادno longer ليfor me بمطاردfor pursuing الصيدgame حاجهa need
ماعاد لي بمطارد الصيد حاجه
إلاغزالنexcept a gazelle صادنيcaught me قبلbefore اصيدهI catch him
إلاغزالن صادني قبل اصيده
I no longer have any need to pursue game,
I no longer care for chasing prey,
Except for a gazelle who caught me before I could catch him.
Except for gazelles that come to me before I hunt them.
ريمنa white gazelle لبسdonned فيin عالمrealm الزينbeauty تاجهhis crown
ريمن لبس في عالم الزين تاجه
عزاهalas داريmy home عنfrom ديارهhis home بعيدهfar away
عزاه داري عن دياره بعيده
A white gazelle who donned his crown in the realm of beauty.
Riman wears the crown of beauty in this world,
Alas, my home is far from his.
While my home is far away from her abode.
خشفنa fawn طعنpierced قلبيmy heart وعندهand with him علاجهits cure
خشفن طعن قلبي وعنده علاجه
مالهhe has no سلاحنa weapon غيرexcept عينهhis eye وجيدهand his neck
ماله سلاحن غير عينه وجيده
A fawn pierced my heart, and with him lies its cure.
Her glances stab my heart, yet she has the cure,
He has no weapon but his eye and his neck.
Her only weapons are her eyes and cheeks.
إلىwhen اظلمتdarkens دنيايmy world ولعlights سراجهhis lamp
إلى اظلمت دنياي ولع سراجه
يمشيwalks علىalong دربهhis path فوادنa heart يريدهlongs for him
يمشي على دربه فوادن يريده
When my world darkens, he lights his lamp.
Though my world grew dark, her lamp lit it up,
A heart that longs for him walks along his path.
My heart walks the path to her, desiring her.
ياعاذلينO you who reproach القلبthe heart هذيthis سذاجهfolly
ياعاذلين القلب هذي سذاجه
خلونيlet me آحبهI love him واحبهand I love him وازيدهand I love him more
خلوني آحبه واحبه وازيده
O you who reproach the heart, this is folly.
O you who blame my heart, this is naivety!
Let me love him, and love him, and love him more.
Let me love her, love her more, give her more.
القلبthe heart قلبيmy heart والمخالجand the stirrings خلاجهits stirrings
القلب قلبي والمخالج خلاجه
وكثرand much الحكيtalk يااهلO people of الحكيtalk مايفيدهdoes it no good
وكثر الحكي يااهل الحكي مايفيده
The heart is mine, and the stirrings are its own.
My heart is my heart, its wounds are bandages,
And all that talk, O talkers, does it no good.
And too much talk, O people, does not benefit it.