أَمِن رُسومٍ بِأَعَلى الجِزعِ مِن شَرِبِ

فاضَت دُموعُكَ فَوقَ الخَدِّ كَالشَرَبِ

From the patterns at the top of an old palm tree being tapped for wine

Your tears flowed over your cheek like the flowing sap

لا يَظعَنونَ عَلى عَمياءَ إِن ظَعَنوا

وَلا يُطيلونَ إِخماداً عَنِ السُرَبِ

They cannot overpower the blind even if they try overpowering

Nor can they prolong the quenching of their thirst at the cistern

وَيلُ اُمِّ حَيٍّ دَفَعتُم في نُحورِهِمُ

بَني كِلابٍ غَداةَ الرُعبِ وَالرَهَبِ

Woe to the mother of the living whom in their breasts

You thrust, you dogs, on a morn of fear and terror