1. My father, horseman of Sarma, Amr son of Malik
On the morning of battle when he charged, stumbling

2. On the morning when people stayed in their rooms
Beating as the zealous beat the early risers

3. With blows that make dreams fly from their dwellings
And thrusting of spears and the warrior is embroiled

4. So the war did not overwhelm him when it was ferocious
Nor did he flee when vile acts were perpetrated

5. And my people when adversity afflicts the people, they display
And take refuge in the broken down houses

6. And they were like orphans, every deep ravine
They violated their wealth, honor abundant

7. They left the people of Tifaf and Sirba
Disheveled, while the praying ones departed

8. As if the disheveled horses under their saddlebags
Are buzzards it called to the dusk prayer