وكَيفَ بَقاءُ المَرءِ بَعدَ اِبنِ أُمِّهِ

وكَيفَ بَقاءُ المَرءِ بَعدَ اِبنِ أُمِّهِ

إِذا بَرَقَت أَوصالُهُ كَالمَحاجِنِ

إِذا بَرَقَت أَوصالُهُ كَالمَحاجِنِ

And how can a man live on after his mother's son,

How can a man live on when his mother's son is gone,

When his joints gleam like hooked staffs?

When his joints are as brittle as dry twigs?

أَخي ما أَخي لا فاحِشٌ عِندَ بَيتِهِ

أَخي ما أَخي لا فاحِشٌ عِندَ بَيتِهِ

وَلا مُرثَعِنٌّ ساقِطٌ في الدَواخِنِ

وَلا مُرثَعِنٌّ ساقِطٌ في الدَواخِنِ

My brother—what a brother he was! Not miserly at home,

O brother, my brother was no debaucher in his house,

Nor sluggish, slumped in smoke-filled dwellings.

No sluggard lolling about in the corners,

وَما كانَ وَقّافاً إِذا الخَيلُ أَحجَمَت

وَما كانَ وَقّافاً إِذا الخَيلُ أَحجَمَت

وَلا وَرِعاً جَثّامَةً في الأَماكِنِ

وَلا وَرِعاً جَثّامَةً في الأَماكِنِ

And he was not one to hang back when the horses balked,

Nor did he hold back when horses charged in battle,

Nor timid, forever crouching in place.

No over-pious hypocrite in his haunts.