وَيَومٍ مِنَ ايّامِ العَجوزِ كَأَنَّما

وُجوهُ المَوالي فيهِ بِالثَلجِ تَلطَحُ

One day in the life of the old man was like

And on a day of the Days of the Old Woman, wherein it seemed

The faces of the loyal drenched in snow

The faces of the servants were daubed with snow,

جَعَلنا صِلانا الراحَ فَالتَهَبَت بِنا

وَأَوقَدَتِ الأَجوافَ فَالجِلدُ يَرشَحُ

We made the wind a connection, it ignited within us

We made wine our hearth, and it blazed within us,

And lit a fire in our cores, our skin now melts away

Kindling our insides until the skin ran with sweat.