1. For those with camels grazing in the stony desert,
Taught by the Bedouin to trot briskly,

2. Their hooves make the pebbles rattle as if they were pearls mixed with musk and pure blood,
A crescent moon of the tribe of Hilal ibn ‘Amir guides them through the dark nights,

3. Guarded by fierce lions under the camels stalking like thieves,
Stallions none can control when they are enraged,

4. They and the waves and winds are kindred spirits,
My liver is wounded and my feelings captivated by nomadic passions,

5. Whenever their step falters or sways, they correct themselves like a bolt straight as an arrow,
Their eyes brim with tears when they see traces of a departed loved one,

6. And if the ardour of love subsides, their hearts still ache and throb,
The morning breeze, lightning’s flash, warbling birds and moaning winds,

7. And spectres visiting our camp late into the night, cloaked in insomnia and contemplation,
United with numbness and darkness, opposed to gaiety and fragrance,

8. My eyes in the oblivion of sound sleep, as the wolf seduces their lids,
The morning breeze blew and the stars conspired, aiming their arrows toward the sunset,

9. At the battleground of dreams, warriors and valiant white swords seek vengeance,
Never were white blades bared for battle, as cheeks were unveiled from veils,

10. How beautiful were those phantom cheeks, though they were but delusions,
Would that we had a hut in Nejran, caressed by the soft sand dunes,

11. Glistening when the sun rises over it, its drops like molten gold,
A tawny mare, roused by the morning breeze,

12. The sun dyes the horizon while rising,
A tender night, as if matching my complexion and nature,

13. A plateau smooth as thelegs of a beautiful gazelle, lids like those of loving eyes,
None has trailed the train of glory as I have,

14. And time trails my unyielding determination, trying to hold me back,
It challenges my resolve, fortitude and ambition,

15. Then turns from me, defeated and disgraced,
I’m ashamed if my patience appears defeated,

16. And my composure lost, terror in my look,
I withhold my tears like holding back pebbles in the well’s pulley,

17. Yet my heart’s blood still flows from within,
It pleases me that while poor, my face and honor are intact,

18. Though what I have is a destined portion,
Want has not kept me from virtue,

19. A broken branch still flowers and bears fruit,
My dignity is no cowardice in adversity,

20. My eyes are strong, though often weeping,
The turns of fate have not made me insensitive,

21. How can one live large with shackled feet?
I have long tested mankind and life,

22. Experiences have taught me well,
Hearts like unfeeling rock, sheer mischief like the sparks of flint,

23. A time whose wonders, when examined, contain no wonders,
Though hot-headed, its brow bound with glorious order,

24. Its edifice rises above the stars, touching the unknown,
Surpassing the achievements of rivals,

25. With limbs reaching into the far horizons,
Heavy with wise attributes, fluttering pages,

26. When mountain winds blow, peaks tremble,
Were the divine veil to lift from it, a canopy of light would shine,

27. In its conscience, intuition couples with inspiration, conjecture and experience,
Its piercing look kills - figures freeze or melt before it-

28. When it rose over Damascus, only the delicate veils and screens remained,
A turbulent sea - were the sea to flow over it,

29. Its spray could not wet its dust,
Foaming with waves like an enraged lion,

30. With its fledglings and delicate nestlings,
In the stallions' galloping, it always follows

31. A heavenly trajectory like shooting stars,
When darkness falls, their hands carry a burning coal,

32. Neither extinguished nor lighting a fire,
Shields - were it not for them - would be pierced by the sharp blades,

33. Wearing the coats of mail like statues on pedestals,
They attack the weak points of the heavily-armed cavalry,

34. Though the mail coats are soaked in blood from stabbing wounds,
The pattern of wounds inscribing them with illegible script,

35. The pages covered in the blood of blows,
A swaying ship running with the wind, like a fleet ship with twisted stern,

36. Making the standard waver as if they were the slender waists of virgins provoking desire,
Bloodshed makes them reel as if they were swaying in intoxication,

37. Between exultation and fear - for victory, joy, and for doom, terror,
Bay-colored steeds neighing as if inflamed by the raging winds,

38. When the standard is raised, illuminated pages unfold
Announcing victory in clear letters, while the hearts of foes are terrified,

39. Their sight makes the Romans realize they are like clouds heavy with poured blood,
Never have the banners of the true faith ceased to rise

40. Where they passed, in every canal and watering place,
Again and again you have routed the enemy,

41. Though they are elusive as mirages,
You made them taste the heat of combat - they fled,

42. While the lie of glory withered in their veins,
When they returned defeated, excuses on their lips,

43. They found your family there to welcome them,
They saw you had no will to crush them violently,

44. Your pardon was without bitterness or spite,
Never did enemies wear the garment of meekness and apology

45. Except with your sword looming above their necks,
Had you hardened your heart against them once,

46. They would not have returned save stripped and whipped,
Your nature tends toward clemency - had you sought otherwise,

47. You would have been defeated, and affectation fails,
God reward you - how great is your clemency to sinners!

48. The more you show wrath, the more it grows,
Force is not always condemned,

49. Nor is pardon always loved,
If you never thought to be hard, still your resolve

50. Is feared, and the heads of warriors are struck,
Many a champion you defeated but then released him

51. Though your blows had branded him,
Did not God's repeated gifts warn the enemies from you?

52. Lessons, rewards, and rebuke are in them,
Do they not see your remaining alive is a mercy?

53. Your patience, an education, your pardon, a reproof?
Can the ominous rattle of swords not restrain them,

54. When their edges are broken by the heavy load?
The sword’s bent blade deluded them -

55. Else, its sharpness would have deterred them,
Through you, Time emulates virtues,

56. Else anxiety and doubts would be its nature,
No livelihood gained but through your grant,

57. No life counted but among your gifts.