كانُونُ مَطبخِنا في العِيد كانُونُ

والهِرُّ فِيهِ على ما فِيه مَأْمُونُ

Our oven was the cauldron on feast days

With warmth assuredly in it, and safety from harm.

فَما شَكا زَفْرةً كالعَاشِقينَ ولا

تخضبَّتْ بِنَجِيعٍ فِيهِ سِكِّينُ

It breathed no sighs like ardent lovers,

Nor did blades in it grow red with blood.

وَلا هَدَتْ نَارُهُ السَّارِي ولا رُفِعَتْ

قِدْرٌ وَلا نُصِبَتْ فيهِ مَواعِينُ

Its flame did not flare up or pots Lifted or water jugs set in place,

Nor did the mighty one afflict us there,

ولا أَلَمَّ بِنا الجرَّارُ فيهِ وَلا

دِينُ البَراهِمةِ الواهي لنا دِينُ

Nor the fading faith of the Brahmins our faith.