لَقَد لَجَنت بِالمالِ خَوصاءُ ضامِرٌ
وَكَيفَ لَها أَنَّ اللُجَينَ لَجينُ
A hollow-eyed, gaunt she-camel has indeed become mired in wealth;
And how could she avoid it, when silver is mire?
وَنَحنُ بَنو هَذا التُرابِ فَلا تَبِت
مُسِرَّ غَرامٍ أَن يُقالَ هَجينُ
We are children of this earth, so do not lie awake
Secretly anguished at being called mixed-blood.
حَياتِيَ تَعذيبٌ وَمَوتِيَ راحَةٌ
وَكُلُّ اِبنِ أُنثى في التُرابِ سَجينُ
My life is torment, and my death is rest;
Every child of woman is a prisoner in the earth.
أَقَبري بِوَهدٍ أَم وَجينٍ أَحُلُّهُ
فَإِنَّ أَديمَ الآدَمِيِّ وَجينُ
Will my grave be in a hollow or on firm, raised ground?
For even a human being’s skin is firm, raised ground.
Sol 6