يا رَبَّةَ البَغلَةِ الشَهباءِ هَل لَكُمُ

أَن تَرحَمي عُمَراً لا تَرهَقي حَرَجا

O mistress of the gray mule, have mercy

On a life so burdened and spare me of guilt

قالَت بِدائِكَ مُت أَو عِش تُعالِجُهُ

فَما نَرى لَكَ فيما عِندَنا فَرَجا

She said, with your illness, die or live to mend it

For we see no relief for you in our abode

قَد كُنتَ حَمَّلتَني غَيظاً أُعالِجُهُ

فَإِن تُقِدني فَقَد عَنَّيتَني حَجَجا

You had burdened me with rage I need to mend

And if you lead me, you had spared me of disputes

حَتّى لَوَ اِسطيعُ مِمّا قَد فَعَلتَ بِنا

أَكَلتُ لَحمَكَ مِن غَيظي وَما نَضَجا

That if I could, for what you did to us

I'd eat your flesh in rage though undercooked

فَقُلتُ لا وَالَّذي حَجَّ الحَجيجُ لَهُ

ما مَجَّ حُبُّكِ مِن قَلبي وَلا نَهَجا

So I said, no - by the One the pilgrims hail

Your love never left my heart nor took flight

وَما رَأى القَلبُ مِن شَيءٍ يُسِرُّ بِهِ

مُذ بانَ مَنزِلُكُم مِنّا وَما ثَلِجا

Nor did the heart see anything it cheers for

Since your abode parted from us, nor iced

كَالشَمسِ صورَتُها غَرّاءُ واضِحَةٌ

تُعشي إِذا بَرَزَت مِن حُسنِها السُرُجا

Like the sun, her image radiant and vivid

Dims at nightfall, though her beauty glows bright

ضَنَّت بِنائِلِها عَنّا فَقَد تَرَكَت

مِن غَيرِ ذَنبٍ أَبا الخَطّابِ مُختَلَجا

She denied us her gifts, and so she left

Al-Khattab without guilt completely distraught