1. O son of Fahd, you are the full moon,
And towards you flows the life of all people,

2. My will has glimpsed Iraq, so it unsheathed
My zeal's sword for travel's determination,

3. Greetings to you and the family, and the shade,
And the mighty hands,

4. Except I want from you a book,
Singular, containing the unique speech,

5. With prose like flowers of the meadow
Laughing over the cloud's weeping,

6. And composition wherein is lawful magic
Transcending all sorcery forbidden,

7. From it, every perceptive person's hearing feasts
In listening while his heart smiles,

8. In it, from Providence's surface, is what necessitates
My right upon the noble prince,

9. So fulfill my right in it with the arm of thought
That my gratitude may live for days to come.