كَأَنَّهُم وَرِقاقُ الريطِ تَحمِلُهُم

وَقَد تَوَلَّوا لِأَرضٍ قَصدُها عُمَرُ

As though they were thin pages being blown

And turned towards a land they journey to for life

دَومٌ بِتِريَمِ هَزَّتهُ الدَبورُ عَلى

سوفٍ تَفَرَّعَهُ بِالجُملِ مُحتَضِرُ

Constant with the shaking of the saddle on

A swift she-camel branched by death's slow knife