Khuzaʿah—comprising the clans of Banū Bakr b. ʿAbd Manāt and Ghubshān—gained the upper hand and expelled Jurhum from the Sacred House. Their chieftain, ʿAmr b. al-Ḥārith b. Muḍāḍ al-Jurhumī, therefore removed the two golden gazelles that adorned the Kaʿbah, the Corner Stone—namely the Black Stone—as well as ornamented swords and other valuables, buried them in the well of Zamzam, marked the spot, and departed with his people for Yemen. On that occasion he recited:

A woman addressed me, tears pouring unchecked,
Her eye-sockets choking on the flood of grief.

“It is as though between al-Ḥajūn and al-Ṣafā
No friend ever lingered, no night-talker ever sat in Mecca.”

I replied—my heart within me
Fluttering like a bird between its wings—

“Yes, we were indeed her people, but the turns of night
And the misfortunes of fate displaced us.

We were the guardians of the House after Nābit,
Circling that House while goodness was plain.

We held its charge after Nābit in full might;
No swaggering rival found favor with us.

We ruled and strengthened—how great was our rule!
No tribe but ours could boast there.

Did you not wed the finest man you knew?
His sons are from us; we are his in-laws.

If the world now bends against us,
It merely changes face—strife lies within it.

The Sovereign cast us out by His power;
So, people, the decrees of destiny run their course.

While the carefree sleep and I lie wakeful I murmur:
“O Lord of the Throne, do not drive Suhayl and ʿĀmir far away.”

In their place I meet faces I do not love—
Tribes such as Ḥimyar and Yuhābir.

We have become mere tales, though once in bliss;
Thus have the passing years taken their bite.

My eyes pour tears for a town
That holds a sacred, secure sanctuary and its ritual sites;

For a House whose doves are never harmed,
Whose sparrows dwell in safety all day long;

For there even gentle beasts may not be pursued—
Should they wander out, none will give them chase.”