لَعَمريby my life لَقَدindeed دَلّىlowered إِلىinto اللَحدِthe burial niche خالِدٌKhalid
لَعَمري لَقَد دَلّى إِلى اللَحدِ خالِدٌ
جِنازَةَthe body of لاnot كابيfailing to spark الزِنادِthe flint وَلاand not غُمرِan inexperienced man
جِنازَةَ لا كابي الزِنادِ وَلا غُمرِ
By my life, Khalid has indeed lowered into the grave
By my life, Khaled was certainly carried to his grave,
the body of one whose flint never failed and who was no novice.
A funeral without shrouds or perfume.
مُقيمٌdwelling بِحَوّارينَin Hawwarin لَيسَdoes not يَريمُهاleave it
مُقيمٌ بِحَوّارينَ لَيسَ يَريمُها
سَقَتهُmay they water him الغَواديthe morning rainclouds مِنas ثَويٍّa dweller وَمِنand as قَبرِa grave
سَقَتهُ الغَوادي مِن ثَويٍّ وَمِن قَبرِ
He dwells in Hawwarin and does not leave it.
Settled in places not his own, places that grieve him not,
May the morning rainclouds water him, dweller and grave alike.
The valleys have watered him from peak and tomb.
تَصيحُcry out المَواليthe retainers أَنbecause رَأَواthey saw أُمَّthe mother of خالِدٍKhalid
تَصيحُ المَوالي أَن رَأَوا أُمَّ خالِدٍ
مُسَلِّبَةًclad in mourning تَبكيweeping عَلىfor الماجِدِthe noble man الغَمرِthe bountiful one
مُسَلِّبَةً تَبكي عَلى الماجِدِ الغَمرِ
The retainers cry out at the sight of Khalid's mother,
The slave girls shriek when they see Khaled's mother
clad in mourning, weeping for the noble, bountiful man.
Bareheaded, weeping for the glorious hero.
إِذاwhen جاءَcame سِربٌa company مِنof نِساءٍwomen يَعُدنَهاthey visit her
إِذا جاءَ سِربٌ مِن نِساءٍ يَعُدنَها
تَجَرَّدنَthey stripped themselves إِلّاexcept مِنof جَلابيبَouter robes أَوor خُمرِhead-veils
تَجَرَّدنَ إِلّا مِن جَلابيبَ أَو خُمرِ
When a company of women comes to visit her,
Whenever a flock of women come to console her,
they strip off all but outer robes or head-veils.
They remove their robes and veils, nothing more.
Sol 6.1