يا لَقَومي لَحَبلِكَ المَصرومِ

يَومَ شَوطى وَأَنتَ غَيرُ مُليمِ

O my people, your rope is frayed

On the day of my misfortune while you remain unharmed

وَرُسومُ الدِيارِ تُعرَفُ مِنها

بِالمَلا بَينَ تَغلَمَينِ فَريمِ

The landmarks of home can be recognized

By children at play amidst noble youth

غَشِيَ الركبُ رَبعَها فَعَجِبنا

مِن بَلاهُ وَما المَدى بِمُقيمِ

The caravan covers the land yet we wonder

At its affliction and unrestrained roaming

كَحَواشي الرِداءِ قَد مُحَّ مِنهُ

بَعدَ حُسنٍ عَصائِبُ التَسهيمِ

Like the hems of a cloak now threadbare

After beauty, the edges raveled and torn

بَدَّلَ السَفحَ في اليَلابِنَ مِنها

كُلُّ أَدماءَ مُرشِحٍ وَظَليمِ

It changed the slopes into dark mourning cloaks

Bloodstained and gloomy each one

قَد أَروعُ الخَليلَ بِالصَرمِ مِنّي

لَم يَخَفهُ وَقِلَّةِ التَكليمِ

I startled my friend with the illness in me

He did not expect it nor my hushed speech