I drank wine in the city tavern,
And the blue-eyed women stood in a line, waiting.
And the one with the kohl-rimmed eyes, hers possessed a clear magic,
It strikes, never missing, and my suspicion came upon us.
Arrows aimed from above, so we were afflicted.
We know neither attack nor retreat to save us.
So slow down, slow down,
For we have reached our limit of excuses and are satisfied.
And the body has had its fill of wounds, yet we are not quenched.
So slow down, slow down,
As if a scorpion's sting were a respite from death,
Or the cessation of rain from the sea that used to quench our thirst.
May God reward you, Mazen, the truthful one.
Is there anything in my love that affects or is taken as an affront?
May God reward you, sister of purity, be fair to us.
Is there a crime in my love, or a crime that deprives us?
The question is many, and the answer is lost within us.
O port that encompasses the age, encompass us.
O ship with the strength of its masts, carry us.
Across the seas, between the seasons, our hearts.
To a place where news of the beloved is found, deliver us.
Or You will deny it, for you are not the first to deny it.
The specter has faded, and the emptiness is clear between us.
The clouds have dispersed, and the sun has turned to the right.
And indeed, Hell has a fire prepared for the wrongdoers.
