The Gift of Each Day
- As stated by Al-Mutanabbi:
For my eyes, each day brings fortune from you,
Confounding me with perplexing matters.
The burdens of this sword rest upon another sword,
And the presence of this cloud rests upon the next.
The earth dries from this rain,
And clothes her with the garments it brings.
The passage of time remains moist from you,
And your downpour continues unceasingly.
You accompany the swirling streams and rising tides,
As companions of beloved music.
Your generosity flows forth, a bounty from which to draw,
Yet I find myself unable to match your exquisite traits.
To My Mother
- As expressed by Mahmoud Darwish:
I yearn for my mother’s bread,
And her coffee,
And the warmth of her touch.
And that love which grows in childhood,
Expanding day by day.
I treasure my life because
If I pass away,
I would be ashamed of my mother’s tears!
Embrace me when I return one day,
With a scarf that fringes your eyes,
And cover my bones with grass,
Steeped in the purity of your feet,
Bind me tightly with a strand of your hair,
With a thread that flutters from the hem of your garment..
Perhaps I shall become a deity,
A deity I shall become,
If only I can touch the depths of your heart!
Lay me down when I return,
A fuel for your oven’s fire..
And a clothesline on your roof,
For I have lost the ability to stand,
Without the prayer of your day.
I have grown old; return my childhood stars,
So I can share,
With the little birds,
The path of return..
For your impatient embrace!
Honoring Expressions
- As penned by Ibrahim Nagi:
O cherished companions and friends,
Forgive me for my words, which fail to articulate.
Poetry is insufficient in a moment,
That transcends all praise and thanks.
And I, who navigated life as a vessel,
And a home for the depths of the soul,
Stand in the evening with friends, unable to express,
As beauty ties my tongue.
O poetry, which my soul has spoken,
Flowing as my heart desires.
O my solace in enduring times, my lyre,
Why do I see you confined to melodies?
Where are your words, and everything you taught me,
In days when you soared unfettered?
Your whispers in troubled times have faded,
As the echoes of heartache slept on them.
People question, though worries abound,
How can healing and poetry unite?
Poetry is a balm for souls, a secret,
A gift from the heavens, and a grace from the Creator.
Medicine heals the physical body, and its source,
Is from the abundant high springs.
From clouds and a fountain behind it,
They find inspiration and draw sustenance.
O pure love that cleanses the hearts,
And washes away grime and stain,
How great is the exalted whisper, whenever
Two burning souls share in its melodies.
Through the trials of the world and within their being,
The humiliation of the prisoner and the resentment of the warden,
Looks up to the skies and ascends,
Soaring through the horizons they rise.
And they embrace behind the clouds, their cups filled
With ecstasy and tenderness.
Write for the sake of art, do not yield to,
The triviality of life nor the fleeting debris.
Seek inspiration in nature alone,
For nature holds countless mysteries.
Poetry is a kingdom, and you are its prince,
What need have poets for crowns?
“Homer,” who was elevated by time itself,
And generations bestowed upon him his reign.
Descend upon the flowers, and wipe away their dew,
And pour your essence for the thirsty sirens.
In every thicket, there is a fragrance, and in every meadow,
A charm from sweet basil.
Songs of the Path
- As noted by Semeih Qasem:
Born from the visions etched during a bountiful season,
And from the disappointment of the drought’s tragedy.
From stars that lingered in their thrones,
To share tales of love amidst the night.
From the insanity of the night.. from its calm,
From the warm blood of the sun cascading on soft clouds,
From roaring seas.. from a stream,
Adrift.. unnoticed by any harbor.
From wings torn by the winds,
That swept through every gale.
From a heart drifting in flower and grass,
And from eagles who adored the stage of meteors.
From the dolls of children.. from their laughter,
From tears purified by the spirit of the Lord.
From arms that have woven their paradise,
A supreme call amidst the rubble of war.
From hearts ablaze with longing,
Flames crossing from one expanse to another.
From eyes soured by their gaze,
The volcano’s mouth evokes terror in its sight.
From wounds that deepen their vengeance,
As no nation has suffered, destroyed by another.
From my blood.. from my pain.. from my rebellion,
From visions lush.. from the beauty of my love,
You are my life.. from its depths,
O my songs! I shall traverse every path.
Do You Not Feel It?
- As expressed by Semeih Qasem:
Do you not feel?….
That we have lost so much.
And it has become words that feel so grand.
There is no excitement.. no longing…
Nor joy in our hearts when we meet,
Nor astonishment in our eyes..
Do you not feel?…
That our encounters are but lingering shadows.
And our kisses are frozen,
We have lost the fervor of connection
And end up merely performing pleasantries.. while we forget.
And perhaps a meeting might lie in state, a lifeless body.
Yet we fabricate excuses.. then we forget.
Do you not feel?…
That our fleeting messages,
Have turned into vagueness.. so brief.
There is no sense.. no soul within them.. no emotion.
No fanciful murmurs,
No desires.. nor intriguing whispers!
And our responses have turned into distant gestures.
Like a heavy burden.. we seek to rid our weary shoulders.
Do you not feel?…
In a world that has crumbled.. and a new world must arise.
Do you not feel?…
That our ending is bitter.. terrifying.
For the truth is, our ending was never bitter.. nor terrifying?..