أقولُ إذْ هَتَفَ الدَّاعي بمصْرعِه

لبَّيْكَ لبيك من داع بتَبْيينِ

I heard the caller's cry at his death

"At your service, at your service," from one who calls clearly

نعيْتَ من جَمَدتْ غُزْرُ العيونِ له

فلم تَفِضْ عَبْرةٌ من عَيْنِ مَحْزون

You were mourned by eyes whose torrents were frozen for him

Yet no tear falls from a grieving eye

ومَنْ يَقِلُّ لَهُ الدَّاعِي بمغفرةٍ

ويُنشدُ النَّاسُ فيه بيتَ يَقْطين

And who will say few prayers for him

While people recite verses about him

فإن تُصبْكَ من الأَيَّام جائحةٌ

لم يُبْكَ منكَ على دُنْيا ولا دين

If disasters strike you from the days

None will cry for you, neither world nor faith

يا مُنكراً ونكيراً أوجِعاهُ فَقَدْ

خَلَوْتُما بقليلِ الخير ملْعون

O Munkar and Nakir, torment him, for he

Was seldom virtuous, accursed one

بُعْداً وسُحْقاً له من هالك نَطِفٍ

مُشَوَّه الخلقِ من نسل الشياطين

Away, dashed to pieces, with the one who destroys seed

Deformed of form, of devils' line