وَكَم مِن قَتيلٍ لا يُباءُ بِهِ دَمٌ

وَمِن غَلِقٍ رَهناً إِذا ضَمَّهُ مِنى

How many are the slain, their blood unavenged,

How many the shackled as hostages, when desire embraces them,

وَمِن مالِئٍ عَينَيهِ مِن شَيءِ غَيرِهِ

إِذا راحَ نَحوَ الجَمرَةِ البيضُ كَالدُمى

How many with eyes brimming with tears other than their own

When the white camels march towards the stoning place like blood.

يُسَحِّبنَ أَذيالَ المُروطِ بِأَسوُقٍ

خِدالٍ وَأَعجازٍ مَآكِمُها رِوى

Dragging the trains of their wide skirts,

With buttocks swaying and plump thighs.

أَوانِسُ يَسلُبنَ الحَليمَ فُؤادَهُ

فَيا طولَ ما شَوقٍ وَيا حُسنَ مُجتَلى

Charmers who steal the heart of the forbearing,

Oh, the longings and the beauty of the unveiling!

مَعَ اللَيلِ قَصراً رَميُها بِأَكُفِّها

ثَلاثَ أَسابيعٍ تُعَدُّ مِنَ الحَصى

A palace whose corners they cast with their palms

For three weeks counted on fingers.

فَلَم أَرَ كَالتَجميرِ مَنظَرَ ناظِرٍ

وَلا كَلَيالي الحَجِّ أَفلَتنَ ذا هَوى

Never did I see a spectacle like the stoning ritual,

Nor nights of pilgrimage that try lovers so.