Show me your face
Son of the desert
Take my hand
Lead me to the wadi
To quench my thirst
Le me climb
On the howdah of Qaswa
And ride with you
Over the dunes
To the parting of the mountains
Son of Abd’Allah
Son of Abd-al-Muttalib
Son of Hashim
Son of Manaf
Son of Qusayy
Show me your face
Nadhir, you called
And I answered
By the white forenoon
And the brooding night
I hear your cry
Your grief, your pain
What has become us
That we take Baghdadi kahins
For our caliphs?
Wandering blindly
Like hapless asses
Frightened by a lion
In our contumacy
With eyes wide shut
Forsake us not
Son of Kilab
Son of Murrah
Son of Ka’b, of Lu’ayy
Son of Ghalib, of Fihr
What would ease your pain
When we broke the inkwells
Of your message
And slew your sons
On the banks of the Euphrates?
Sayyidi!
With their blood
We have written the lines
Of our divisions
On the hot sands of Karb and Bala
Burning thunderbolts!
Surge of angry seas!
Fires of augury
Ebola from mangonels
Aren’t these what we deserve?
We’ve left the beaten path
Spurned your dictats and fiats
In our hollow quest
Hankering for a glory
Which truly belongs to only your God.
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