1. سَلَامُ اللهِ، لِي دَمْعٌ عَجُوزٌ

    أُبَعْثِرُهُ عَلَى وَرَقِ الشَّتَاتِ

    God's peace! I have aged tears,

    I scatter them across the pages of dispersal.

  2. وَلِي الْأَيَّامُ طَعْمُ الْمَوْتِ فِيهَا

    وَلِي الْأَشْعَارُ بُسْتَانُ الْغُوَاةِ

    And for me, the days hold the taste of death;

    And for me, poems are the garden of the wayward.

  3. أُطِيحُ بِكُلِّ مَمْلَكَةٍ وَحُكْمٍ

    وَأَنْشُرُ أَنَّتِي بِفَمِ الرُّوَاةِ

    I overthrow every kingdom and rule,

    And spread my groan through the mouths of narrators.

  4. أَجُولُ عَلَى سَحَائِبِ بَعْضِ ظَنِّي

    وَأُعْطِي الشِّعْرَ نَصًّا مِنْ حَيَاتِي

    I roam upon the clouds of some of my conjectures,

    And give poetry a text from my life.

  5. كَثَيْرُ الظَّنِ أنَّ الشَّعْرَ يُجْدِي

    إذَا اتَّصَفَتْ بِهِ بَعْضُ  الْعُصَاةِ

    I often think that poetry is of use,

    When some of the disobedient are marked by it.

  6. وَكُلُّ الشِّعْرِ مَوْصُولٌ بِهَمِّ

    وَبَعْضُ الشِّعْرِ مَوْثُوقٌ بِآتِ

    And all poetry is linked to sorrow,

    And some poetry is bound to what is to come.

  7. أَرَاهَ الْيَوْمَ فِي قَوْلٍ شَرِيدٍ

    ضَعِيفِ النَّشْءِ مَحْنِيِّ الصِّفَاتِ

    I see it today in a stray utterance,

    Weak in growth, bent in its qualities.

  8. عَلَى حَرْفٍ مِنَ الْأَيَّامِ سَهْوًا

    يَبِيعُ الْمَرْءُ أَحْلَامَ الدَّوَاةِ!

    On an edge of the days, absentmindedly,

    One sells the dreams of the inkwell!

  9. إذَا مَا الْمَرْءُ فَكَّرَ فِي عَطَاءٍ

    يَذُوقُ الذَّلَ طَعْمًا مِنْ فُتَاتِ

    When one thinks of a gift,

    One tastes humiliation—a taste of crumbs.

  10. هِيَ الْأَيَّامُ تَرْفُضُ كُلَّ وِدٍّ

    هِيَ الْأَشْوَاكُ تُزْرَعُ بِالْقَنَاةِ

    The days—they reject all affection;

    They are the thorns planted with the spear.

  11. نَرُدُّ الْمَوْتَ عَنْ دَمْعٍ عَجُوزٍ

    لَعَلَّ الدَّمْعَ مَوْفُورُ الْهِبَاتِ

    We ward death away from aged tears,

    Perhaps the tears are rich in gifts.

  12. سَلَامُ اللهِ يَا وَطَنًا تَعَافَى

    دَمُ الْأَيَّامِ تَقْبِيلُ الطُّغَاةِ!

    God's peace, O homeland restored to health,

    The blood of days is the kissing of tyrants!

  13. لَنَا الْأَحْلَامُ لَوْ تَصْفُو عُرُوقٌ

    يُخَالِطُ نَبْضَهَا لَيْلُ الْفَوَاتِ

    Dreams are ours, if only veins would run clear,

    Whose pulse is mingled with the night of missed chances.

  14. عَلَى الْأَحْلَامِ طَيْرٌ مُسْتَبِدٌّ

    يُشَرِّعُ حُلْمَنَا تَحْتَ الْوُلَاةِ

    Above the dreams is a tyrannical bird,

    It legislates our dream beneath the rulers.

  15. أَبَتْ لِلْحُلْمِ مُتَّسَعًا فَسِيْحًا

    وَإِنَّ الْحُلْمَ بَابُ الْمُعْجِزَاتِ

    It denied the dream a spacious expanse,

    And indeed, the dream is the gate of miracles.

  16. أَرَى لِلْحُلْمِ أَصْلًا مُسْتَنِيْرًا

    يُكَمِّلُ شَكْلَهُ مِنْ نَيِّرَاتِ

    I see a luminous root for the dream,

    It completes its form from shining lights.

  17. يُرَاوِدُ شَكَّهُ فِي كُلِّ عَيْنٍ

    كَأَنَّ الشَّكَ مَنْطُوْقُ اللُّغَاتِ

    It woos its doubt in every eye,

    As though doubt were the utterance of languages.

  18. إِذَنْ سَنَعُودُ نَلْفُظُ شَهْقَتَيْنِ

    لَنَا طَعْمُ الْحَيَاةِ لَكَالْمَمَاتِ

    Then we shall return, letting out two gasps;

    For us, life's taste is indeed like death.

  19. نُبَرْهِنُ إِنْ رَمَانَا الْمَوْتُ سَهْمًا

    بِأَنَّا سَوْفَ نُوْلَدُ مِنْ رُفَاتِ

    We shall prove, if death shoots an arrow at us,

    That we shall be born from mortal remains.

  20. سَأَرْشُفُ رَشْفَتَيْنِ: دَمًا وَخَمْرًا

    إِذَا وُئِدَ الْحَنِينُ مِنَ الْحَيَاةِ

    I shall take two sips: blood and wine,

    When longing is buried alive, removed from life.