1. My people, the Iyad, if only they were a nation,
And if only they would settle, blessings would be abundant.

2. A people who, when united, command Iraq’s plain,
Marching together, whether scribe or commoner.

3. Woe to a mother of my people, a people who, when food is scarce
And rain sparse, are as though bled white.

4. When their sun rises, shrouded in dust,
It sinks again as if snatched into darkness.

5. My grandfather was stern when I claimed descent, and Mansur,
Rightfully, though late accepts my claim of kin.

6. Our fathers bloodied Tihama through time
And their army’s march wet its sands.