أبَى طَلَلٌ بِالجِزْعِ أَنْ يتكلما

A ruin at al-Jiz' refused to speak, yet what harm would it do if it answered a yearning soul?

And by al-Far' there is vengeance for the slain, and at al-Liwa are playgrounds that cannot be recognized even in fancy.

Whenever we fall into a Mudar-like rage, we tear through the veil of the sun or make it rain.

Whenever we grant a leader from any tribe the height of a pulpit, he turns to pray for us and greets us in peace.

We are a people whose battle-steeds never cease to contend for a kingdom or seize a prize.

We created a sky above us whose stars are swords, and whose dust-clouds blind the eye with a murky gloom.

And the holding-place of a day when war drew tight its hardships—its shade drew near and it grew so red it turned pitchy dark.

I outgrew the habits of youth, and my ambitions pushed forward until I found no further ahead to go.

This is the season when the soul grew modest, my peers mended their ways, and I returned to what was most upright.

And a day like a water-kiln which they stoked, feeding it dry logs until it blazed fiercely.

I cast myself into the glowing heat of its desert winds, driving the pale camels until their nostrils bled.