«زَيِّ الْكُتِّيحْ اِللِّي يِشْبَعْ مِنُّه يْطَق»

The saying marks something as a trap disguised as nourishment. What appears to feed and satisfy turns out to be the very thing that destroys, so the moment of having had enough is also the moment harm arrives. The thing in question is judged by where it leads, not by how it looks.

The picture behind it is pastoral and blunt: kuttīḥ, a weed that grazing animals find in their fodder, which swells their bellies until they literally split and die. Fullness here is not comfort but the beginning of the end, and that grim reversal is what gives the comparison its force.

Offered as a warning or a disapproving verdict about anything that seems rewarding now but is expected to end badly. The image comes from grazing animals, yet the comparison applies to anything with a harmful outcome, implying that taking more only hastens the damage. The tone is cautionary and pointed.