"I was sleepless and spent the night as a waking woman,
as if my eyes were smeared like kohl with slime.
I watched over the stars, though I was not charged with guarding them;
sometimes I wrapped myself with the remains of tattered garments.
I heard (though I did not rejoice with it as news)
a messenger who came to report, repeating the news.
He says: Sakhr dwells there in the grave
near the mausoleum, felled among the rocks.
So go! May God not distance you from a man
who leaves off injustice, a seeker of revenge.
You carried a heart that was not oppressed,
fitted together in origin without feebleness.
His face is like the spearhead that illuminates the night,
strong in his resoluteness, free and son of free men.
I will weep for you as long as the ringdove wails
and as long as the stars light up the night for the night-traveler.
I will never make peace with any tribe that you were at war with
until the cooking pot of the generous host becomes white."