سُقياً لحربِ يسرّ جانيها

سُقياً لحربِ يسرّ جانيها

صفوفنا للقِنا قنانيها

صفوفنا للقِنا قنانيها

A toast to a war whose instigator rejoices!

Our cups brim with wine, our vanguard with spears,

Blessings upon a war that delights the one who wages it,

Its bottles form our ranks for spear-combat.

As we march to delight in glorious war.

Where our ranks, in place of spears, are rows of flasks,

كؤوسنا والطلا طلايعُنا

كؤوسنا والطلا طلايعُنا

نحيا بها بُكرةً فنحييها

نحيا بها بُكرةً فنحييها

Our cups and the wine are our vanguard.

Our mangonels sing a lively tune,

Our goblets and the vintage serve as our vanguard,

We live by it at dawn, and so bring it to life.

Their cords thrumming a fierce melody.

We find life in them at dawn, and so we salute them,

ثمّ المجانيقُ عودُ ماجنةٍ

ثمّ المجانيقُ عودُ ماجنةٍ

والشعرُ فيها غناءُ مجريها

والشعرُ فيها غناءُ مجريها

Then the catapults are a wanton woman's lute.

Thrust and blow are kisses to us,

Our catapults are but the lutes of a wanton songstress,

And poetry in it is the singing of the one who conducts it.

Though afterward we veil their memory.

And the poetry within is the melody she sings,

والطعنُ والضربُ عندنا قُبَلٌ

والطعنُ والضربُ عندنا قُبَلٌ

ثمّ خصالٌ هناكَ نُخفيها

ثمّ خصالٌ هناكَ نُخفيها

And for us, thrusts and blows are kisses.

So this is our war and our amusement.

The stabbing and the striking are, to us, mere kisses,

Then there are deeds there that we conceal.

Blessings on our war and its inventor!

Along with other deeds which we choose to conceal,

فهذه حربُنا ووقعتُنا

فهذه حربُنا ووقعتُنا

بوركَ في حربِنا ومُنشيها

بوركَ في حربِنا ومُنشيها

So this is our war and our battle.

This, then, is our war and our great campaign,

May our war and its originator be blessed!

Blessed be our war, and the one who decreed it.