يا أمَّ آكلةُ الأكباد في شغفٍ
كُفِّي يَديْها فمَا أبْقَتْ لنا كَبِدا
O nation, devourer of livers in ravenous passion,
Curb her hands—for you have spared us not a single liver.
لولاكِ ما حمَلَتْ سيفاً تصولُ به
وما بَنَتْ من أمانينا لها عُمَدا
Were it not for you, she would never have borne a sword with which to charge,
Nor built herself pillars out of our hopes.
طوَّافةً في شِعابِ الأرضِ عابثةً
ولا تُعيرُ أباً رُحْمى لها ولا ولَدا
Roaming the ravines of the earth, wreaking havoc,
She shows neither father nor child a trace of mercy.
تجُرُّ ذيْلَ بناتِ اللَّيْل في صَلَفٍ
وما رأيتُ لها في الصَّالحاتِ يدا
She trails the train of Night’s daughters in haughty pride,
And never have I seen any hand of hers among righteous deeds.
Sol 5.6