1. O mistress of the gray mule, have mercy
On a life so burdened and spare me of guilt

2. She said, with your illness, die or live to mend it
For we see no relief for you in our abode

3. You had burdened me with rage I need to mend
And if you lead me, you had spared me of disputes

4. That if I could, for what you did to us
I'd eat your flesh in rage though undercooked

5. So I said, no - by the One the pilgrims hail
Your love never left my heart nor took flight

6. Nor did the heart see anything it cheers for
Since your abode parted from us, nor iced

7. Like the sun, her image radiant and vivid
Dims at nightfall, though her beauty glows bright

8. She denied us her gifts, and so she left
Al-Khattab without guilt completely distraught