1. شَكَوتُ إِلى سِربِ القَطا إِذ مَرَرنَ بي

    فَقُلتُ وَمِثلي بِالبُكاءِ جَديرُ

    I poured out my grief to a flock of sandgrouse as they passed me,

    and said—for one such as I has every right to weep:

  2. أَسِربَ القَطا هَل مِن مُعيرٍ جَناحَهُ

    لَعَلّي إِلى مَن قَد هَوَيتُ أَطيرُ

    “O flock of sandgrouse, is there one among you who will lend me his wing,

    that perhaps I may fly to the one I have loved?”

  3. فَجاوَبنَني مِن فَوقِ غُصنِ أَراكَةٍ

    أَلا كُلُّنا يا مُستَعيرُ مُعيرُ

    They answered me from atop the branch of an arak tree:

    “Indeed, all of us, O borrower, are lenders.

  4. وَأَيُّ قَطاةٍ لَم تُعِركَ جَناحَها

    فَعاشَت بِضُرٍّ وَالجَناحُ كَسيرُ

    Whichever sandgrouse does not lend you her wing—

    may she live in misery, her wing broken!”

  5. وَإِلّا فَمَن هَذا يُؤَدّي رِسالَةً

    فَأَشكُرَهُ إِنَّ المُحِبَّ شَكورُ

    “If not, then who here will carry a message

    so that I may thank him? Surely the lover is ever grateful.

  6. إِلى اللَهِ أَشكو صَبوَتي بَعدَ كُربَتي

    وَنيرانُ شَوقي ما بِهِنَّ فُتورُ

    To God I complain of my passion after all my anguish,

    and the fires of my longing—there is no abating in them.

  7. فَإِنّي لَقاسي القَلبِ إِن كُنتَ صابِراً

    غَداةَ غَدٍ فيمَن يَسيرُ تَسيرُ

    Surely I am hard of heart if you can remain steadfast;

    tomorrow morning, among those who journey, you shall journey.

  8. فَإِن لَم أَمُت غَمّاً وَهَمّاً وَكُربَةً

    يُعاوِدُني بَعدَ الزَفيرِ زَفيرُ

    And if I do not die of grief, care, and anguish,

    after one sigh, another sigh returns to me.

  9. إِذا جَلَسوا في مَجلِسٍ نَدَروا دَمي

    فَكَيفَ تُراها عِندَ ذاكَ تُجيرُ

    Whenever they sit in council, they declare my blood forfeit;

    how then do you suppose she can grant me refuge?

  10. وَدونَ دَمي هَزُّ الرِماحِ كَأَنَّها

    تَوَقَّدُ جَمرٍ ثاقِبٍ وَسَعيرُ

    Yet in defense of my life spears are brandished as though they were

    the flare of piercing embers and a raging blaze.

  11. وَزُرقُ مَقيلِ المَوتِ تَحتَ ظُباتِها

    وَنَبلٌ وَسُمرٌ ما لَهُنَّ مُجيرُ

    Blue-steel spears—beneath their blades death makes its noonday rest—

    and arrows and brown-shafted lances, from which there is no protector.

  12. إِذا غُمِزَت أَصلابُهُنَّ تَرَنَّمَت

    مُعَطَّفَةٌ لَيسَت بِهِنَّ كُسورُ

    When their shafts are flexed, they sing,

    bending, with no break or flaw in them.

  13. قَطَعنَ الحَصى وَالرَملَ حَتّى تَفَلَّقَت

    قَلائِدُ في أَعناقِها وَضُفورُ

    They crossed the gravel and the sand until

    the necklaces at their necks, and their braids, came apart.

  14. وَقالَت أَخافُ المَوتَ إِن يَشحَطِ النَوى

    فَيا كَبِداً مِن خَوفِ ذاكَ تَغورُ

    She said, “I fear death if separation casts us far apart.”

    O my liver, how it sinks for fear of that!

  15. سَلوا أُمَّ عَمروٍ هَل يُنَوَّلُ عاشِقٌ

    أَخو سَقَمٍ أَم هَل يُفَكُّ أَسيرُ

    Ask Umm ʿAmr whether a lover may be granted her favor—

    a man sick with love—or whether a captive may be freed.

  16. أَلا قُل لِلَيلى هَل تُراها مُجيرَتي

    فَإِنّي لَها فيما لَدَيَّ مُجيرُ

    Come, tell Layla: do you think she will shelter me?

    For in everything within my power, I would shelter her.

  17. أَظَلُّ بِحُزنٍ إِن تَغَنَّت حَمامَةٌ

    مِنَ الوُرقِ مِطرابُ العَشِيِّ بَكورُ

    I remain in sorrow whenever a dove sings,

    one of the gray doves, a songstress at evening and earliest dawn.

  18. بَكَت حينَ دَرَّ الشَوقُ لي وَتَرَنَّمَت

    فَلا صَحَلٌ تُربي بِهِ وَصَفيرُ

    She wept when longing welled up in me, and sang,

    with neither rasp nor whistle to swell her song.

  19. لَها رُفقَةٌ يُسعِدنَها فَكَأَنَّما

    تَعاطَينَ كَأساً بَينَهُنَّ تَدورُ

    She has companions who join her lament, as though

    they were passing around a cup among themselves.

  20. بِجِزعٍ مِنَ الوادي فَضاءٍ مَسيلُهُ

    وَأَعلاهُ أَثلٌ ناعِمٌ وَسَديرُ

    At a bend in the valley, where the watercourse opens wide,

    and above it stand soft tamarisks and luxuriant growth.

  21. بِهِ بَقَرٌ لا يَبرَحُ الدَهرَ ساكِناً

    وَآخَرُ وَحشِيُّ السِخالِ يَثورُ

    Wild cattle dwell there, never stirring from their home,

    while another wild calf springs up.