ظَمْأَىthirsty لِعَيْنَيْكِfor your eyes يَاO غَيْدَاءُGhayda (graceful one) بَيْدَائِيmy desert
ظَمْأَى لِعَيْنَيْكِ يَا غَيْدَاءُ بَيْدَائِي
مَاتَdied الغَمَامُthe clouds فَمَاتَتْso died كُلُّall أَنْدَائِيmy dews
مَاتَ الغَمَامُ فَمَاتَتْ كُلُّ أَنْدَائِي
My desert thirsts for your eyes, O Ghayda.
Thirsting for your eyes, O Ghaida my desert,
The clouds died, so all my dews died.
The cloud has died, so all my meadows died.
سَلَّتْunsheathed أَظَافِرَهَاits claws شَمْسُthe sun الحَيَاةِof life فَمَاso did not
سَلَّتْ أَظَافِرَهَا شَمْسُ الحَيَاةِ فَمَا
أَبْقَتْleave بِرَاحِلَتِيon my mount زَادِيmy provisions وَلاَnor مَائِيmy water
أَبْقَتْ بِرَاحِلَتِي زَادِي وَلاَ مَائِي
The sun of life unsheathed its claws, leaving
The sun of life unsheathed its claws, leaving
neither my provisions nor my water upon my mount.
No provisions on my she-camel, no water.
أَمْشِيI walk وَفِيand in الرَّمْلِthe sand حُمَّىa fever وَالطَّرِيقُand the road يَدٌa hand
أَمْشِي وَفِي الرَّمْلِ حُمَّى وَالطَّرِيقُ يَدٌ
شَلاَّءُparalyzed تَرْسُفُdrags itself فِيin قَيْدٍa shackle وَإِغْمَاءِand a swoon
شَلاَّءُ تَرْسُفُ فِي قَيْدٍ وَإِغْمَاءِ
I walk; there is fever in the sand, and the road is a hand,
I walk, fever in the sand, the road a withered
paralyzed, dragging itself in fetters and a swoon.
Hand, stumbling, bound, swooning away.
أَمْشِيI walk وَوَهْجُand the heat اللَّظَىthe flames يَمْتَصُّsucks مِنْfrom رِئَتِيmy lung
أَمْشِي وَوَهْجُ اللَّظَى يَمْتَصُّ مِنْ رِئَتِي
ثُمَالَةَthe dregs النَّفَسِof breath المَكْدُودِexhausted بِالدَّاءِby illness
ثُمَالَةَ النَّفَسِ المَكْدُودِ بِالدَّاءِ
I walk, and the heat of flames sucks from my lung
I walk, the blaze of noon draining my lungs—
the dregs of breath worn out by illness.
The breath of life, wasted by disease.
أَمْشِيI walk وَحَرُّand the heat الظَّمَاof thirst يَغْتَالُslays فِيin شَفَتِيmy lip
أَمْشِي وَحَرُّ الظَّمَا يَغْتَالُ فِي شَفَتِي
رُوَاءَهَاits freshness وَيَهُدُّand crushes الوَهْمُillusion أَعْضَائِيmy limbs
رُوَاءَهَا وَيَهُدُّ الوَهْمُ أَعْضَائِي
I walk, and the heat of thirst slays, within my lip,
I walk, the heat of thirst lurking on my lips,
its freshness, while illusion crushes my limbs.
Sipping their moisture, numbing all my limbs.
أَمِنْis it from جَفَافِthe drought الضَّنَىwasting sickness جَفَّتْdried up بِأَخْيِلَتِيin my imaginings
أَمِنْ جَفَافِ الضَّنَى جَفَّتْ بِأَخْيِلَتِي
حُقُولُهَاtheir fields وَتَلاَشَىand faded ضَوْءُthe light أَنْوَائِيmy rain-stars ؟
حُقُولُهَا وَتَلاَشَى ضَوْءُ أَنْوَائِي ؟
Is it from the drought of wasting sickness that, within my imaginings,
Has the drought of sorrow dried up my pastures?
their fields have dried, and the light of my rain-stars has faded?
Have their fields vanished? Their lights dimmed?
أَمْor أَنَّthat صَبَّارَتِيmy cactus مَلَّتْgrew weary of مُرَافَقَتِيaccompanying me
أَمْ أَنَّ صَبَّارَتِي مَلَّتْ مُرَافَقَتِي
مَنْwho ذَاthis one يُرافِقُaccompanies أَشْوَاكِيmy thorns وَحَصْبَائِيand my pebbles ؟ !
مَنْ ذَا يُرافِقُ أَشْوَاكِي وَحَصْبَائِي ؟ !
Or has my cactus grown weary of keeping me company?
Or has my patience tired of accompanying me?
Who would accompany my thorns and pebbles?
Who now can befriend my thorns and gravel?
يَاO خِصْبَةَfertile الرُّوحِof soul ، عَطْشَىthirsty مُهْجَتِيmy heart انْصَهَرَتْmelted
يَا خِصْبَةَ الرُّوحِ ، عَطْشَى مُهْجَتِي انْصَهَرَتْ
جِبَالُthe mountains صَبْرِيَmy patience فِيin نِيرَانِthe fires رَمْضَائِيmy scorching sands
جِبَالُ صَبْرِيَ فِي نِيرَانِ رَمْضَائِي
O fertile-souled one, my heart is thirsty; melted are
O fertile spirit, my soul parched with thirst,
the mountains of my patience in the fires of my scorching sands.
My mountains of patience melted in fires of misery.
لاَdo not تَحْسَبِيthink حُمْرَةَthe redness الخَدَّيْنِthe two cheeks مِنْfrom رَغَدِيmy ease
لاَ تَحْسَبِي حُمْرَةَ الخَدَّيْنِ مِنْ رَغَدِي
فَالنَّارُfor the fire مِنْfrom نَكَدِيmy misery تَقْتَاتُfeeds on أَحْشَائِيmy entrails
فَالنَّارُ مِنْ نَكَدِي تَقْتَاتُ أَحْشَائِي
Do not think my cheeks' redness comes from my ease;
Think not the blush on my cheeks comes from plenty.
for the fire of my misery feeds on my entrails.
The fire feeds on my torment, devouring my innards.
سَبَىtook captive الخَرِيفُautumn اخْضِرَارِيmy greenness وَالهَجِيرُand the noonday heat دَمِيmy blood
سَبَى الخَرِيفُ اخْضِرَارِي وَالهَجِيرُ دَمِي
وَعَكَّرَتْand clouded رِيحُthe wind هَمِّيmy worry صَفْوَthe clarity أَجْوَائِيmy skies
وَعَكَّرَتْ رِيحُ هَمِّي صَفْوَ أَجْوَائِي
Autumn took my greenness captive, and the noonday heat my blood;
Autumn took my verdure, the hot wind my blood,
and the wind of my worry clouded the clarity of my skies.
The wind of care clouded the calm of my climes.
أَكَادُI almost أَجْهَلُI do not know لَوْنِيmy color ، وَجْهَthe face خَارِطَتِيmy map
أَكَادُ أَجْهَلُ لَوْنِي ، وَجْهَ خَارِطَتِي
أَكَادُI almost أَنْسَىI forget عَنَاوِينِيmy addresses وَأَسْمَائِيand my names
أَكَادُ أَنْسَى عَنَاوِينِي وَأَسْمَائِي
I scarcely recognize my color, the face of my map;
I can barely recall my complexion, or the chart
I almost forget my addresses and my names.
Of my face. I’m forgetting my titles, my name.
يَمَامَةًa dove صِرْتُI became ضَلَّتْlost سِرْبَهَاher flock ، وَغَدَتْand became
يَمَامَةً صِرْتُ ضَلَّتْ سِرْبَهَا ، وَغَدَتْ
مَا(emphatic particle) بَيْنَbetween مَوْتَيْنِtwo deaths صَيَّادٍa hunter وَإِعْيَاءِand exhaustion
مَا بَيْنَ مَوْتَيْنِ صَيَّادٍ وَإِعْيَاءِ
I became a dove that lost her flock and ended up
I’ve become a dove that lost her flock, now prey
between two deaths: a hunter and exhaustion.
Between two deaths—the hunter’s and exhaustion.
صَدْيَانَparched هَدَّshattered النَّوَىseparation قَلْبِيmy heart وَأَجْنِحَتِيand my wings
صَدْيَانَ هَدَّ النَّوَى قَلْبِي وَأَجْنِحَتِي
رَهِينُcaptive رِيحَيْنِtwo winds هَوْجَاءٍraging وَنَكْبَاءِand a crosswind
رَهِينُ رِيحَيْنِ هَوْجَاءٍ وَنَكْبَاءِ
Parched—separation has shattered my heart and my wings—
My heart a lark brought down by destiny’s shot,
I am captive to two winds: a raging one and a crosswind.
My wings captive to two winds, tempest and defeat.
غَارَتْreceded عُروقِيmy veins ، وَنَشَّand dried up الجِذْرُthe root وَانْتَفَضَتْand trembled
غَارَتْ عُروقِي ، وَنَشَّ الجِذْرُ وَانْتَفَضَتْ
أَنَامِلِيmy fingertips وَارْتَمَتْand flung itself لِلْقَيْظِto the summer heat صَحْرَائِيmy desert
أَنَامِلِي وَارْتَمَتْ لِلْقَيْظِ صَحْرَائِي
My veins receded, the root dried up, and trembled
My veins singed dry, roots sprouting, fingers twitching,
my fingertips; my desert flung itself into the summer heat.
My desert stretches aching from the sultry heat.
فَعَلِّلِينِيso soothe me ؛ أُحِسُّI feel المَوْتَdeath يَهْمِسُwhispers لِيto me
فَعَلِّلِينِي ؛ أُحِسُّ المَوْتَ يَهْمِسُ لِي
يَكِيدُplots لِيagainst me بَيْنَbetween إِرْهَابٍterror وَإِغْرَاءِand temptation
يَكِيدُ لِي بَيْنَ إِرْهَابٍ وَإِغْرَاءِ
So soothe me; I feel death whispering to me,
Diagnose me—I feel death whispering to me,
scheming against me between terror and temptation.
Plotted between terrors and enticements.
رُشِّيsprinkle تُرَابِيmy dust لَعَلِّيperhaps I حَينَwhen يَلْمَسُنِيtouches me
رُشِّي تُرَابِي لَعَلِّي حَينَ يَلْمَسُنِي
طَلُّthe dew الهَوَىof love يَنْتَشِيbecomes intoxicated حِسِّيmy senses وَأَهْوَائِيand my passions
طَلُّ الهَوَى يَنْتَشِي حِسِّي وَأَهْوَائِي
Sprinkle my dust with water; perhaps, when I am touched
Sprinkle my dust, perhaps when desire touches me
by the dew of love, my senses and passions will grow intoxicated.
Some feeling and passions may bloom from my ruins.
عَلِّيperhaps I إِذَاwhen بَلَّلَتْmoistened سُقْيَاكِyour watering ذَاكِرَتِيmy memory
عَلِّي إِذَا بَلَّلَتْ سُقْيَاكِ ذَاكِرَتِي
تَنْمُوgrow حُرُوفِيmy letters وَيَحَْياand comes alive بَعْضُsome أَشْلاَئِيmy torn limbs
تَنْمُو حُرُوفِي وَيَحَْيا بَعْضُ أَشْلاَئِي
Perhaps, when your watering moistens my memory,
When your rain moistens my memory, make
my letters will grow, and some of my torn limbs will come alive.
My letters grow, bring some splinters back to life.
رُدِّيgive back عَلَيَّto me لِحَائِيmy bark ، وَابْعَثِيand revive وَرَقِيmy leaves
رُدِّي عَلَيَّ لِحَائِي ، وَابْعَثِي وَرَقِي
وَحَرِّرِيand free مِنْfrom سُجُونِthe prisons الظِّلِّof shadow أَفْيَائِيmy shades
وَحَرِّرِي مِنْ سُجُونِ الظِّلِّ أَفْيَائِي
Restore my bark to me, and revive my leaves,
Give me my raiment back, make my leaves burgeon,
and free my shades from the prisons of shadow.
Free me from the darkness’ jails, my glimmers.
وَذَكِّرينِيand remind me هَدِيلِيmy cooing إِنَّهاindeed she نَسِيَتْhas forgotten
وَذَكِّرينِي هَدِيلِي إِنَّها نَسِيَتْ
هَدِيلَهَاher cooing فِيin عَنَاءِthe hardship الدِّرْبِof the road وَرْقَائِيmy gray dove
هَدِيلَهَا فِي عَنَاءِ الدِّرْبِ وَرْقَائِي
And remind me of my cooing; she has forgotten
Remind me of my murmur—it forgot its murmuring
her cooing in the hardship of the road—my gray dove.
Lost on the toilsome road in my scattered pages.
هَيَّاcome انْفُخِيblow فِيَّinto me جَمْرَthe embers الحَرْفِof the letter وَاشْتَعِلِيand blaze
هَيَّا انْفُخِي فِيَّ جَمْرَ الحَرْفِ وَاشْتَعِلِي
وَأَشْعِلِيand ignite فِيin بَقَايَاthe remnants الصَّمْتِof silence أَعْبَائِيmy burdens
وَأَشْعِلِي فِي بَقَايَا الصَّمْتِ أَعْبَائِي
Come, breathe the letter's embers into me, and blaze,
Come, blow in me the embers’ words, ignite,
and set my burdens alight in the remnants of silence.
And kindle flames in the silence’ ashes.
وَلَمْلِمِينِيand gather me up ، وَضُمِّيand embrace شِقْوَتِيmy misery فَلَقَدْfor indeed
وَلَمْلِمِينِي ، وَضُمِّي شِقْوَتِي فَلَقَدْ
تَبَعْثَرَتْhave scattered فِيin مَهَبِّthe path الرِّيحِof the wind أَشَيَائِيmy things !!
تَبَعْثَرَتْ فِي مَهَبِّ الرِّيحِ أَشَيَائِي !!
And gather me up, and embrace my misery, for indeed
Gather me in, collect my fragments, for the
my things lie scattered in the wind's path.
Wind has scattered my belongings far and wide!
Claude 2 is inferred from the historical translator configuration. The original record does not identify its model.