وَكَم قَد تَرَكنا في دِمشقَ وَأَهلِها

مَن أَشمَط مَوتُورٍ وَشمطاءَ ثاكِلِ

How many we left in Damascus and its people

How often have we left behind, in Damascus and among her kin,

Of one grieving, wailing, and a widow lamenting

Grey-haired men unavenged, and old mothers bereft of their sons,

وَغانِيَةٍ صادَ الرِماحُ حَليلَها

فَأَضحَت تَعُدُّ اليَومَ بَعضَ الأَرامِلِ

And a singing girl whose lover spears have slain

And many a beauty whose husband the spears hunted down,

So she has become counting the days as one of the widows

So that she woke to find herself numbered among the widows,

وَتَبكي عَلى بَعلٍ لَها راحَ غادياً

وَلَيسَ إِلى يَومِ الحِسابِ بِقافِلِ

And weeping for a husband who went away from her

Weeping over a lord who rode out at dawn,

And will not return till the Day of Reckoning

And who, until the Day of Judgment, shall not return;

وَأَنّا أُناسٌ لا تُصيبُ رِماحَنا

إِذا ما طَعنّا القَومَ غَيرَ المُقاتِلِ

While we are a people whom when we stab with our spears

For we are a people whose lances never strike—

None but the warriors get struck down by them

When we thrust at the enemy host—anyone but the warrior.