بَني سُلَيمٍ أَلا تَبكونَ فارِسَكُم

خَلّى عَلَيكُم أُموراً ذاتَ أَمراسِ

O clan of Sulaym, why do you not weep for your horseman

Who left you with matters of grave concern

ما لِلمَنايا تُغادينا وَتَطرُقُنا

كَأَنَّنا أَبَداً نُحتَزُّ بِالفاسِ

Why does death keep visiting us and drawing near

As if we are always destined for the blade

تَغدو عَلَينا فَتَأبى أَن تُزايِلَنا

لِلخَيرِ فَالخَيرُ مِنّا رَهنُ أَرماسِ

It comes upon us but refuses to leave us

While goodness from us is hostage to spears

وَلا يَزالُ حَديثُ السِنِّ مُقتَبَلاً

وَفارِساً لا يُرى مِثلٌ لَهُ راسِ

And talk of old age continues to approach

With no horseman seen whose equal holds the rein

مِنّا يُغافِصنَهُ لَو كانَ يَمنَعُهُ

بَأسٌ لَصادَفَنا حَيّاً أُلي باسِ

If he who prevents him had might

He would have met us living, wearing a gleaming coat of mail