1. The curtain of Kharijah tribe was pardoned,
Yet some ruins in Hassalah still remain barren.

2. After us, an inkpot became lonesome,
As no fire for it, with the wolf, did burn.

3. By your life! I love a land,
Wherein Kharijah, even if in rags, did dwell.

4. As if its brambles hung upon it,
Rebellious branches of lotus tree and pearls.

5. The lost camels and short ladders submitted,
To its Sudeir's blasting gun's yell.

6. I'm the son of Madhrahi, my father Shulail,
Can the daylight be hidden from people as well?

7. Over us is his register, and for every stalwart,
From it, a carpenter's awl will chisel and knell.

8. It carries me, the robe of Madhrahi,
When the caller to prayer neighs his yell.