كَأَنَّ سِنانَهُ أَبَداً ضَميرٌ

كَأَنَّ سِنانَهُ أَبَداً ضَميرٌ

فَلَيسَ لَهُ عَنِ القَلبِ اِنقِلابُ

فَلَيسَ لَهُ عَنِ القَلبِ اِنقِلابُ

His spearhead seems forever an inner thought,

His lance is ever an accusation of conscience

for it never turns away from the heart.

So from the heart there is no escape

وَصارِمُهُ كَبَيعَتِهِ بِخُمِّ

وَصارِمُهُ كَبَيعَتِهِ بِخُمِّ

فَمَوضِعُها مِنَ الناسِ الرِقابُ

فَمَوضِعُها مِنَ الناسِ الرِقابُ

And his keen sword is like his pledge of allegiance at Khumm,

And like the giving of his pledge with sleeves rolled up

so its place among the people is their necks.

Its place amongst mankind is the nape