Long was my night of wake at Anˁamayn
while sleepless at the ceaseless stars I gazed.
How can I age in life while a slain man
of Taghlib still calls for a man to be slain?
O chide the eye weeping rueful over ruins!
In the breast a wound is open for Kulayb.
In the breast is a bloody need unsatisfied
as long as doves among the branches wail.
How can he ever weep over ruined things
who pledged to battle men across the ages?
How can I forget you, Kulayb, when I've yet to quell
the sorrow whelming me, the blood-parched rage?
Today O heart, make good your bloody vow.
When they ride forth at morn, retaliate!
They grip their bows and we flash lightning bolts
as stallions threatening their stallion prey.
We steel ourselves beneath their flashing steel
till they fall pounded by our long hard blades
And can keep up no more. We keep attacking
for he who keeps the field is war's true mate.