1. Sorrow refused solace for my sons though
a wall I saw rage when hands clasped hers,

2. My sons were same as those fate had struck
with death's ropes-slowly she took them.

3. My sons lodged in my home, both their stays
emptied me, slowly they went their ways.

4. In graves dug, empty of water, dreadful,
with woodDeath hides his fangs.

5. To them my sons came, guests briefly housed
among a horde whose clothes aren't lent.

6. No living soul have I seen come below
to earth-a pit whose dust absorbed his woe

7. Except my soul has focused till the day
appointed comes that ends its stay.

8. For they were wealth that I do not sell
and armor when war lets loose her hell.

9. How many they killed when hunger called
and snakes whose poison tips appalled.

10. When named, or called, my chest's bones crack
and my ribs start-such fierce attack!

11. For them, a lion in wild gorge I'd been,
no plea made me defer their need, keen.

12. I and my rule o'er them-I see no trace
of self when in my heart they've place,

13. Like spear shafts, though the tribes attack,
their forts secure, their blades no lack.

14. When my eyes see those who fill their sight,
tears pour that mourn that woeful plight.

15. Sons of earth! My sons made me glad.
Now destiny makes me infinitely sad.

16. But for whom earth has taken them away
and swords ripped open war's array,

17. Whatever strikes the faithful down
rewards shall come, those blows we crown.

18. Homes we shunned could be robbed, and yet
those folk still precious whom we'd not met.

19. May God bless me! If I had died before
this happened, wishes bring them back no more.

20. My hope-to die with life that built for them
fragrant tombs with rising domes o'er them.

21. Two poets will tell Ibn Ghalib for me
and Akhtal Bekr when night falls balefully

22. Brother, dear friend from Taghlib, and beyond
Sakhawee-at dawn their mounts wander on.

23. And Khunays leading camels at evening pass
to Daweeya, dust colored, steep their mass.

24. Think not events have shaken my arm, nor flame
quenched which war will stir again the same.

25. Still remains in me of Qanat's line the strike
proud she goat, deaf, whose blows she will not like.

26. At news that Salma underwent such as took
my sons, mountains themselves would shudder and rebuke.

27. Still I wage war until I leave it behind
like feathers molting that eagles won't find.

28. When enemies try to milk it I twist tight
its teats until they get no sip however they might,

29. And I fall on their necks so every clan will go
cowed by me, heads bowed down very low.

30. You are brothers when war bites you bare its teeth,
and when you bite its fangs fall underneath!