غاض القريض وأودت نضرة الأدب

Poetic inspiration has dried up and the freshness of literature has perished, and the riverbank garden of books has withered after its watering.

You have been stripped of the garment of splendor you once wore, when plunderers seized you with South Arabian lances.

You continually confronted momentous crises when they befell, with an undivided heart and a resolute, single-minded will.

You have milked the very udders of time, by my life, striding forward with an energy that knows neither slackening nor fatigue.

Who is there now for the desolate tracts, to revive the dead traces of their camping grounds with every swift, wide-girthed mount?

A lean, deep-ribbed camel whose sweat is sweet-smelling, whose bare withers chafe against the girth and the saddle.

Or who is there for the desert wolf, to feed it from his leftovers when it prowls between despair and hunger?

Or who is there for the gleaming swords dripping with blood, or for the slender lances, the chainmail, and the heavy coats of mail?

Or who is there for the battalions, stoking the fire of their blazing war until it tears through the blinding flames?

Or who is there for the assemblies, making them flourish with structured verse, prose, proverbs, and eloquent speeches?

Or who is there for the snorting steeds, their coats reddened after their familiar grey marks have vanished in the dust?

Or who is there for the desert watering holes while darkness looms, keeping up the constant journey between the spring and the well?

Or who is there for the dust-clouds that wrap the rugged terrain, or who is there for the roar of the fierce, embattled lion?

Or who is there for honorable melee combat, defending the nobility of the soul against defilement with dripping, razor-sharp blades?

Or who is there for kings, adorning them and clothing them until they strut proudly in their fresh garments of praise?

Delightful memories rob me of sleep and keep me awake, since you became a helpless corpse in the grip of fickle misfortunes.

You lived a companion of noble pursuits, unforced and unbowed, and you died like a sword blade, unstained and unblamed.

So go forth, and upon you be the salutation of glory for as long as camel-riders' mounts wander the saddles and the mountain passes.