يا ابنَ حرب كسوتني طَيْلَسَاناً

يُزْرع الرَّفْوُ فيه وهو سِبَاخُ

O son of war, you clothed me in a worn out garment

In which tatters are sown, and it is tattered

عُد مَلِيَّاً قد ناطح الدهْرَ حتى

كلُّ أركانه بهنَّ انْفِسَاخُ

Return heedful, it has contended with time until

Every pillar of it is weakened and cracked

مات نُسَّاجُهُ ومات بَنُوهم

وبدا الشيب في بَنيهم وشاخوا

Its weaver has died, and his children have died

And grey hair has appeared among them as they aged

طيلسان إذا تداعت خُرُوقٌ

بين أثنائه لهنَّ صُرَاخُ

When its tatters collapse between its seams

They cry out

سرَّني صوتُه وقلت لصحبي

لم يُصَوِّتْ إلاَّ وفيه طَبَاخُ

Its sound pleased me, and I said to my friend

It only sounds when there is cooking in it

تستمرُّ الصُّدُوعُ طولاً وعرضاً

فيه حتى كأنهنَّ رِخَاخُ

The rents go on lengthwise and crosswise in it

As if they are gaping holes

نَسْرَ دهرٍ نسورُ لقمانَ والنَّسْ

رَانِ إن قِسْتَها إليه فِراخُ

An eagle of time, eagles of Luqman and the eaglets

If you compare them to it, are chicks