Day and night make one forget So, tell me about my early days
And describe that period of my youth that was shaped by imagination
Blew like the playful Saba (wind) and gone
Like a sweet drowse and a quick pleasure
And thou (dual) shalt ask Egypt; Has the heart forgotten Her?
Or has Time cured its (the heart's) wound?
Whenever nights pass, it gets delicateThough nights make the heart cruel
Turning mad if the ships honked At the early night or howled after the bell
Like a priest in the chest, well-aware of the ships
When they (ships) move, it (the heart) saw them off with beating
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem