ليس الجمالُ بمئزرٍ ** فاعلم وإن رُدِّيتَ بُردا
إِنّ الجمالَ معادنٌ ** وَمَنَاقبٌ أَورَثنَ مَجدا
أَعددتُ للحَدَثانِ سا ** بغةً وَعَدَّاءً عَلَندى
نَهداً وذا شُطَبٍ يَقُدُّ ** البَيضَ والأبدانَ قَدَّا
وعلمتُ أنّي يومَ ذا ** كَ مُنازِلٌ كعباً وَنَهدا
قومٌ إذا لَبِسُوا الحدي ** دَ تَنَمَّرُوا حَلَقا وقِدَّا
كلُّ امرئٍ يجري إلى ** يوم الهِياجِ بما استعَدَّا
لمّا رأيتُ نساءَنا ** يَفحَصنَ بالمَعزاءِ شَدَّا
وَبَدَت لَمِيسُ كَأَنَّها ** بَدرُ السماءِ إذا تَبَدَّى
وَبَدَت محاسِنُها التي ** تَخفَى وكان الأمرُ جِدَّا
نازلتُ كَبشَهُمُ ولم ** أرَ من نِزالِ الكبش بُدَّا
هم يَنذُرونَ دمي وأن ** ذُرُ إِن لقيتُ بأن أَشُدَّا
كم من أخٍ ليَ صالحٍ ** بَوّأتُهُ بيدَيَّ لَحدا
ما إِن جَزِعتُ ولا هَلِع ** تُ ولا يَرُدُّ بُكايَ زَندا
أَلبستُهُ أَثوابَه ** وخُلقتُ يومَ خُلِقتُ جَلدا
أُغني غَنَاء الذاهبي ** نَ أُعَدُّ للأَعداءِ عَدَّا
ذَهَبَ الذين أُحِبُّهم **
وبقيتُ مثلَ السيفِ فَردا
Beauty is not in robes or cloaks,
Know this—even if you are draped in finery.
True beauty lies in noble traits,
And virtues passed down, forging glory.
I prepared for harsh days a swift steed,
A tireless mount that outruns the winds.
With a firm lance that slices clean,
Through armor and through flesh alike.
I knew that on such a day,
I’d rise with pride, high as the stars.
My people, when they don their iron,
Become as fierce as tigers, strong and swift.
Each man rushes toward the day of battle,
Armed with whatever he has prepared.
When I saw our women beat the earth,
Marching strong with goats in tow,
Lamīs appeared—radiant,
Like a full moon rising in the sky.
Her beauty, once veiled, now revealed—
And the moment turned solemn and real.
I faced their champion in the field,
For no brave man dodges such a fight.
They sought my blood, but I too swore,
That should I meet them, I would strike.
How many noble brothers I have laid,
With my own hands, into their graves.
Yet never did I panic, never did I cry out,
No tears nor fears could dim my fire.
I wrapped him in his burial shroud,
For I was made, from birth, of iron will.
I sing the song of golden days,
And ready myself for every foe.
The ones I loved have gone before me,
And I remain, like a lone sword—unsheathed.
