فإن تهدموا داري فإن أرومتي — Farazdaq

So if you demolish my house, my ancestral stock

has honor the son of al-Maragha cannot attain.

My father is ancient, lofty nobility, and a rock

which, when struck, his pickaxes cannot break.

You shrank, O son of the dog, when you saw me

beside the sun, on a rugged height whose strongholds are impregnable.

And through me Kulayb has been beset by a lion

whose chest weighs heavily upon the pregnant Jarir.

Grim-faced, he does not deceive his rival,

but on the open plain he meets him in combat.

A mighty lion, wide of maw, a lion of the thicket,

when he strides, his forepaws and shoulders lend him strength.

Mighty among those who confront their rivals,

and whoever fights him—his mother has already lost him.

And indeed Kulayb, when it came to me with its slave,

was like one whose falsehood deceived him until he saw death.

They hoped, with his mail, to ward off from Kulayb

the piercing shafts I hurl and those I send forth.

I marveled at the sheep-pelter in Hutami mail,

and inside the mail is a slave whose vital spots have been struck.

And can a pregnant woman wear arms, while her belly,

when she girds herself, is a burden upon her that she must balance?

He broke wind and threw off his mail; I would never

throw off my mail for fear of an armored warrior I fight.

Are you not seen silent, O son of al-Maragha,

because of what you carry in the folds of your belly?

And the peoples around me and around you know,

O sons of the dog, that I am glory's head and shoulders.

Did you not know that I am the son of the man of Saw'ar,

and I have his sword's two cutting edges and its carrying straps?

We left Jarir in the market, keeping

Atiyya there—could he find anyone to barter for him?