Her:

You, the bloomed Qaydar tree,

drenched by a rain,

leaves a fragrant wind which shakes,

You, my qudhac flowers

 

You are the one

I’ve chosen,

The one I desire.

 

You who my soul follows

You will soon be refreshed

So come to me slowly.

 

Him:

You who are sweet like

the mareer fruit

That grows with beauty

And fragrant like the Qawl

 

You who cool

My smouldering heart

Covered in wounds

 

You the precious one

You will soon be refreshed

So come to me slowly

 

Her:

You who are like

the rain overflowing

the channels

In a lush green

 

You, who are a vessel full of ghee

Of which I’ve taken my share —

You, my strong ram.

 

You who my soul follows

You will be refreshed

So come to me slowly.

 

Him:

You who are

a rainbow,

sashes of colours,

And the freshly-fallen rain

 

You who are spring’s greenery,

With new shoots for grazing

And on places to camp.

 

You, the precious one.

You will be refreshed

So come to me slowly.