1. Praise be to God, Master of affairs.

    He is the one who drove out every grudge,

  2. And every flaw, and every rancor,

    From everyone of pure heart,

  3. When there came from the direction of Ayn al-Tamr

    Six hearthstones—not the hearthstones of a cooking pot—

  4. Then the slender swords kept sweeping through them,

    Hacking—true hacking, and beyond hacking.

  5. To the generous imam I indeed offer

    My poetry, and, after poetry, sincere love.

  6. Yesterday you freed the captive of Bakr;

    So is there—may my kin and wealth ransom you—

  7. Any ground, plea, or excuse

    To save the Tamimi, scant in gratitude,

  8. From the heavy, dark shackle-rings?

    He has always been mad, upon Time's backside,

  9. With exalted ancestral honor and dwindling wits.

    Give him to your maternal uncles on Eid al-Fitr.

Sol 6.1