وَلي رِزْقٌ يُكَدِّرُهُ لِئَامٌ

ذُبَابُهُمُ يَحُطُّ علَى جِراحِي

I have sustenance, but scoundrels make it bitter

Their flies alight on my wounds

إذا وَعَدُوا فَلا سَلِمُوا فَكُلٌّ

مُسَيْلَمَةٌ يُحَدِّثُ عَن سَجَاحِ

When they make promises, they do not keep them

Each backbiter tells tales from his quiver