لَحى اللَهُ قَوماً أَسلَموا يَومَ بابِلٍ
أَبا خالِدٍ تَجتَ السُيوفِ البَوارِقِ
May God curse the men who abandoned him on the day of Bābil—
Abū Khālid, beneath the flashing swords.
فَتىً كانَ عِندَ المَوتِ أَكرَمَ مِنهُمُ
حِفاظاً وَأَعطى لِلجِيادِ السَوابِقِ
A young warrior who, facing death, was nobler than they,
more steadfast in guarding honor, and more generous to fleet steeds;
وَأغيَرَ عِندَ المُحصَناتِ إِذا بَدَت
بُراهُنَّ وَاِتَعجَلنَ شَدَّ النَطائِقِ
and more fiercely protective of sheltered women when
their anklets showed and they hastened to tighten their girdles.
فَقائِلَةٌ تَنعى يَزيدَ وَقائِلٌ
سَقى اللَهُ جَزلَ السَيبِ عَفَّ الخَلائِقِ
So one woman mourns Yazīd, while a man says:
“May God send rain upon that man, abundant in generosity and pure in character.”
فَلَمّا نَعى الناعي يَزيدَ تَزَلزَلَت
بِنا الأَرضُ وَاِرتَجَّت بِمِثلِ الصَواعِقِ
When the death-herald proclaimed Yazīd dead, the earth
beneath us convulsed and shuddered like thunderbolts.
فَلا حَمَلَت أَزدِيَّةٌ بَعدَ مَوتِهِ
جَنيناً وَلا أَمَّلنَ سَيبَ الغَوادِقِ
After his death, may no Azdī woman ever bear
a fetus, nor hope for the bounty of rain-laden clouds.
Sol 5.6