يا ابنَ الشّريد على تَنائي بَيْنِنا حُيّيتَ غَيرَ مُقَبَّحٍ مِكبابِ
فكهٌ عَلَى خيرِ الغذاءِ اذَاغدتْ شهباءُ تقطعُ باليَ الاطنابِ
أرِجُ العِطافِ مُهفهفٌ نِعمَ الفتى مُتَسَهِّلٌ في الأهْلِ والأجْنابِ
حامي الحَقيقِ تَخالُهُ عندَ الوَغَى اسداً بيشة َ كاشِرَ الأنيابِ
اسداً تناذرهُ الرّفاقُ ضُبارماً شَثْنَ البَراثِنِ لاحِقَ الأقرابِ
فَلَئِنْ هَلَكْتَ لقد غَنيتَ سَمَيذَعاً مَحْضَ الضّريبَة ِ طَيّبَ الأثوابِ
ضَخْمَ الدّسيعة ِ بالنّدى مُتَدَفّقاً مَأوَى اليَتيمِ وغايَة َ المُنْتابِ
Departed son, despite your distance from us, may you be preserved, not desecrated, consecrated.
Jocose over a good meal, a sharp headed lad, you cut through worn out circumlocution.
His cologne still lingers, a wonderful young man, at ease with family and colleagues.
An idealist, running off to fight an angry Assad regime baring its canines.
"Assad" comrades warned, "is dangerous and well armed, they´ll close-you-in".
So if you are cut down, you are eulogized as courageous, committed and of true character.
A giver whose largess overwhelmed and is worthy of commemoration.
translated into English by Mark F Westergreen
My Holy War
