وَكَم مِن قَتيلٍ لا يُباءُ بِهِ دَمٌ

وَكَم مِن قَتيلٍ لا يُباءُ بِهِ دَمٌ

وَمِن غَلِقٍ رَهناً إِذا ضَمَّهُ مِنى

وَمِن غَلِقٍ رَهناً إِذا ضَمَّهُ مِنى

And how many a slain man for whom no blood is exacted in vengeance,

How many are the slain, their blood unavenged,

And many a man held as an unredeemed pledge when Mina enfolds him,

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

وَمِن مالِئٍ عَينَيهِ مِن شَيءِ غَيرِهِ

وَمِن مالِئٍ عَينَيهِ مِن شَيءِ غَيرِهِ

إِذا راحَ نَحوَ الجَمرَةِ البيضُ كَالدُمى

إِذا راحَ نَحوَ الجَمرَةِ البيضُ كَالدُمى

And many a man filling his eyes with what belongs to another,

How many with eyes brimming with tears other than their own

When fair-skinned women, like statues, go toward the Jamrah.

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

يُسَحِّبنَ أَذيالَ المُروطِ بِأَسوُقٍ

يُسَحِّبنَ أَذيالَ المُروطِ بِأَسوُقٍ

خِدالٍ وَأَعجازٍ مَآكِمُها رِوى

خِدالٍ وَأَعجازٍ مَآكِمُها رِوى

They trail the hems of their mantles, with legs

Dragging the trains of their wide skirts,

Plump, and haunches thick with flesh;

With buttocks swaying and plump thighs.

أَوانِسُ يَسلُبنَ الحَليمَ فُؤادَهُ

أَوانِسُ يَسلُبنَ الحَليمَ فُؤادَهُ

فَيا طولَ ما شَوقٍ وَيا حُسنَ مُجتَلى

فَيا طولَ ما شَوقٍ وَيا حُسنَ مُجتَلى

Charming maidens who rob the self-controlled man of his heart.

Charmers who steal the heart of the forbearing,

Ah, what enduring longing, and what a lovely sight!

Oh, the longings and the beauty of the unveiling!

مَعَ اللَيلِ قَصراً رَميُها بِأَكُفِّها

مَعَ اللَيلِ قَصراً رَميُها بِأَكُفِّها

ثَلاثَ أَسابيعٍ تُعَدُّ مِنَ الحَصى

ثَلاثَ أَسابيعٍ تُعَدُّ مِنَ الحَصى

At dusk, as night draws on, they cast with their palms

A palace whose corners they cast with their palms

Three sets of seven pebbles, counted out.

For three weeks counted on fingers.

فَلَم أَرَ كَالتَجميرِ مَنظَرَ ناظِرٍ

فَلَم أَرَ كَالتَجميرِ مَنظَرَ ناظِرٍ

وَلا كَلَيالي الحَجِّ أَفلَتنَ ذا هَوى

وَلا كَلَيالي الحَجِّ أَفلَتنَ ذا هَوى

So I have seen no sight to behold like the casting of pebbles,

Never did I see a spectacle like the stoning ritual,

Nor have nights like those of pilgrimage let a lover escape.

Nor nights of pilgrimage that try lovers so.