ألا يا عين ويحك أسعديني Truly my dear you are to be mourned.

Al-Khansa recited this while weeping over her brother Shakhr. In the meter of Wafir.

Truly my dear you are to be mourned. Help me to repair the vicissitudes of fate and time,

Not continuing to cry tears after a cairn. Indeed your fate has already been assigned and it is inundating me.

So my deluge is with tears to a benefactor restoring to him the exploits that they not recede.

Thus I have arisen after a perfect hero opening my breast to them in poetry.

Ask any grief stricken one, fate overwhelms like a great helplessness.

Arising, I won’t lament the whole matter, nor nurse an illness like a sick patient.

Yet I will continue to remember Rock while choking on a cool stream of fresh tears.

I will recall him when the world has lost its luster and it no longer sparkles with scintillating allure.

Who is for war when it commences from despondence, and who prepares the torches for its advancement?

A cavalry is already advancing to it anew, as if its throngs were an authorization of decadence!

Whenever people war with each other they are consumed by blood revenge, thus the enmity for your blood demands reparations as such.

With every sword there's a sharp edge, a razor’s edge polished and washed.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/82/Afghanistan_pulwar_sword.jpg

ألا يا عين ويحك أسعديني لريب الدّهر والزّمن العضوض

ولا تبقي دموعاً بعد صخر فقد كلفت دهرك انْ تفيضي

ففيضي بالدّموع على كريم رمتْهُ الحادثات ولا تغيضي

فقد اصبحتُ بعد فتي سليمافرّج همّ صدري بالقريض

اسائل كل والهة هبولٍ براها الدّهر كالعظم المهيض

واصبح لا اعدّ صحيح جسم ولا دنفاً أمرّض كالمريض

ولكنّي ابيتُ لذكر صخر أغص بسلسل الماء الغضيض

وأذكره إذا ما الأرض أمْسَتْ هجولاً لمْ تلمّع بالوميض

فمن للحرب إذا صارتْ كَلوحاً وشمّر مشعلوها للنّهوض

وخيل قد دلفت لها بأخْرى كانّ زهاءها سند الحضيض

اذا ما القوم احربهمْ تبول كذاك التّبل يطلب كالقروض

بكل مهنّد عضب حسام رقيق الحدّ مصقول رحيض