Ne tîr û ne xencer bû
It is not an arrow or a dagger,
Ne mar û ne ejder
Neither is it a snake or a dragon.
Ne şûr û ne şeşder bû
It isn’t a sword or a revolver,
Bêhna gulê ez kuştim
The scent of the rose has killed me.
Ne kanî ne robar e
It is not a spring or a river,
Dinê êvar û sar e
In the midst of a cold evening,
Erd evraz û xwar e gulê
In a uphill and a wryly road,
Rûyê gulê ez kuştim
The face of the rose has killed me.
Çiya berf û duman e gulê
The mountains are snowy and foggy,
Gul sosin nemane gulê
The roses and the crocuses are gone,
Yê dimire beran e gulê
The ones that dies are the brave ones.
Rengê gulê ez kuştim
The color of the rose has killed me.
Gulê bêdil û bêcan
The rose is unwilling and weak,
Gulê hekîm û sultan
The rose is both a healer and a queen,
Gulê rovî û şeytan
The rose is sly like a fox,
Sînga gulê ez kûştim
The chest of the rose has killed me.
Dinê bêdeng û zer bû
The surroundings were silent,
Tirba min li der bû
My grave was far away,
Ne êrîş bû ne şer bû gulê
There wasn’t an attack nor a war,
Çavên gulê ez kuştim
The eyes of the rose has killed me.
Gûlê bêdeng û bênaz
The rose is quite and calm,
Gûlê bekir û awaz
The rose is both pure and in a cry,
Gûlê govend gûlê naz
The rose is joyful and coquetry,
Dengê gulê ez kuştim
The voice of the rose has killed me.