Ahmad Shawqi
Ahmad Shawqi is a distinguished Egyptian poet, often regarded as one of the greatest and most celebrated poets in the Arabic language throughout history. He earned the title “Prince of Poets” due to his esteemed position among his contemporaries. In this article, we present a selection of his exquisite poetry.
Most Beautiful Poems of Ahmad Shawqi
Here are some of the magnificent poems authored by Ahmad Shawqi:
May God Grant the People of Paris Goodness
May God grant the people of Paris goodness,
And I see that the mind is the best gift bestowed upon them,
They have a garden of flowers and fruits,
From which the earth yields a display that they have arranged.
A paradise that captivates the intellect,
And a grove from which the eye gathers what they have separated.
Upon seeing it, one might think they have been deprived of the joy
But through their enchantment, they have stolen it.
What do you see when the vineyard shifts,
Even the cupbearers would not have confirmed it?
It intoxicates the gazers with its wine, yet, when
No hand has pressed it, nor has it aged.
They have portrayed it as they wish, so much so
That people marvel at how it does not speak.
The pious finds God’s hand in it
And the ingrate claims they created it.
With Roses as Books, and Breezes as Titles
With roses as books, and breezes as titles,
I saw on the canvas of imagination an orphan,
Who lost her parents on the day of Lusitania.
What a tale told by a trustworthy, credible narrator,
Even if it brings sorrow to the soul and stirs her feelings.
No mother seeks her shadow or kin,
As both pillars of her existence have crumbled, and her youth has been humiliated.
How much the creature struggled within,
And left behind in defeat its tracks.
How I wish those who experienced the pangs of death for an hour,
Like a child who was shot by the hunter, could return to their parents.
No father shelters beneath the shadow of his wing,
And a creature remains hidden beneath the waves in a concealed place,
Watching the traveler while remaining unseen.
She is the whale, or something akin to it within her,
When the faithful forget, and weepers weep for us.
I convey to the shipmates the cries of sorrow,
And the memories we cherished within her.
Traitors when they dive, fickle when they emerge,
Cursed in their clouds and their midst.
And our player returned from the ball of days,
To harm those who do not brave its grinder.
Had she reached the coffin of Moses, she would have unleashed
Her beasts upon him, and scorched her sanctuary.
And the essence of her matter is what we have heard,
The tongue of circumstance beckoning us towards her.
If Noah’s Ark had not been obscured and hidden,
There would be no sea encompassing her and cradling her.
Is it not marvelous that one like me should see what is scarce?
And woe to the world that you claim to live in,
If it is filled with the science of souls that reduces it.
Guidance is the Most Beautiful Path, O Ahmad
Guidance is the most beautiful path, O Ahmad,
And the desire of the maidens is that your youth is beyond.
There was a remnant in you if only love were in reserve,
And today, the remnants are about to vanish.
Summer’s heat has exhausted your verses since spring,
Lost, and your sweet companion has departed.
When they heard you, they said: Is this verse a virgin?
Oh, how I wish its author were a youthful bird.
What place do the indulgent and lovely have with a poet,
Who made love a snare to capture hearts?
How you gathered their hearts upon love,
And deceived those who were affectionate and those who sought you.
You mocked the gossiper, and nearly slipped from the censors,
Today, you sing to the one who slanders and rebukes.
Does the world of women distract you from love,
And does poetry become scarce when you find beauty?
Stand Firm with Your Gaze
Stand firm with your gaze,
For the charm of your cheek’s fire will suffice for you,
And make your impulsiveness a respite,
Indeed, events saturate your impulsiveness.
Keep your virtues away from those who can
Not sustain them with the strength of your arm.
She looked at you from behind the veil,
Without evading the overwhelming force of your edge.
Upon the narratives of war,
What connects them to your sharpness?
Those who wished you ill exerted their utmost effort,
And you heard much from them regarding your prowess.
They conveyed to you words,
Most of which were nothing but mere flattery.
It isn’t the multitude of arrows from
Your eyelashes that wounds me, but the arrow of your distance.
The Vision of Beauty Begins with You
The vision of beauty begins with you,
O Messenger of divine pleasure, who avoids pitfalls,
Take from my eyelids and heart a pathway,
And turn to the heart in its darkest dwelling.
You when you linger upon the eyelids—are they not your kin?
By habit, light descends upon the eyes.
Hatred and war loom between my eyelids and my slumber,
And the night has prepared burdens for it.
Oh, beautiful dream, your creation in my heart,
Is the fairest creation that leads to need.
The Lord of beauty has no rival in the heart,
As if he had no heart to rival.
And I see the heart that wrongs itself every time it hurts,
To atone for its sin with tenderness and apologies.
The lover’s wound seeks compassion,
While the people’s wound seeks vengeance.
O reproachers, you sleep, and the gaze of mine has.
Wretchedness left me with the urgency of my eyes’ matter,
And misfortune in advice, if it is put forth vigorously,
And harm in advice when it is openly offered.
My eyelids have questioned me about the day,
May God protect your eyelids, O day!
Did you ask if we should weep for him? I said: Bring forth tears,
They said: Have patience, and I said: Bring patience—
O my nights, I found you not prolonged
After my nights, nor did I find you short.
Indeed, those who carry great burdens
Do not mind the dreams of small affairs.
We do not wake from you, O time, to complain,
An addict does not feel his intoxication.
So pass the cup considerately, or part ways,
The guidance has slipped from the hands of the drunken.
You Have Brought Us Feelings and Eyeballs
You have brought us feelings and gazes,
And divided the fortunes among lovers;
They shook their blades like pendulums, rendering
Every weak heart hopeless and fast-paced.
How wonderful is the division among lovers—such is my wish
If only they would encounter in love what I have enjoyed!
My strategies in love and what I long for,
Are the strategies of the clever regarding sustenance.
If the beloved were rewarded for overwhelming longing,
I would have received much for my longings.
As for the girl, her rare beauty added nothing except
For unusual manners and traits.
I tasted sweetness and bitterness, and it feels as
The delight of love exists in the variety of taste.
She set a rendezvous, but when we met,
She turned away saying: “What is it with this meeting?”
I replied: “This isn’t how pacts should be kept,” she said,
“There are no treaties for songstresses.”
Her slender waist and charm captivated me,
Made harmonious by looking into her eyes.
She revealed to me passion, and said: “Fear us,”
For passion is a branch of compassion.
O girl of Iraq, shall I hide who I love?
Shall I conceal my affection for you in Iraq?
My verses have remained decent in love but,
About you, the world traverses the horizons.
Do not wish for time to grant more to them,
If you hope for the unbinding of my shackles.
Bear with me, in love, whatever you desire except
For the calamity of rejection, or the agony of separation.
And grant me embraces if the intimacy is reciprocated,
And permit one who is perishing in hugs.
Worn Out, Yet There is No Motion
Worn out, yet there is no motion,
But it weakens when it sees you,
And sways in joy when you
Sway, O branch of the rhamnus.
Indeed, beauty clad you
With the leaves of graces that adorned you.
And in my heart you have grown,
While the heart, from its blood, watered you.
Sweet promises, when shall you fulfill them?
Do you intend to keep them with me?
If every term permitted it,
I would kiss your lips.
Sweetness has been taken from your lips,
And pleasure, too, from your touch.
Injustice prevails with this passion; love
Only yields its fruits in your eyes.
Thus, my end is to those whom I see,
And you have become the desire of my sight.
The Heart is Awake, Except from the Tipple of Hopes
The heart is awake, except from the tipple of hopes,
It lures me in with its captivating grace.
Oh my heart, shall I restore to you youth,
And does the youth possess hands impossible to reach?
We long for those days of purity,
And are you not merely composed of blood and tenderness?
If you do not keep a promise nor maintain a bond,
And fail to acknowledge familiarity, then you are not mine.
Do you recall when we lent passion its due?
And drank from the essence of love from cups?
And you were soft and my beloved remained far away,
And you are yearning while the beloved is distant.
And the days we wagered on love’s chance,
And you, my heart, were placed at each stake.
I had been lamenting after the youth diminished your chances—
How do you find the two goblets differ?
And I remain in my prime, yet the boy ages in Egypt before his time!
I do not lie; God built my being,
Shaping kindness and the finest of softness.
I will be an exultant if beauty leads to my troubles,
And I shall submit if the exquisite captivates my heart.
People of the Bodies that Dance Above
People of the bodies that dance above,
God is in hearts loftier than their peaks.
Grant them safety if it could benefit them,
And return them with kindness if it could aid them.
And behold what your gazes have done to them,
There was no playfulness in the gaze behind their guise.
Eyes from us have exposed themselves, and they challenged us,
On the island, a flock of beauties has emerged.
They confronted us, not retreating from their splendour,
As they waved from the vicinity, embracing their elegance.
And the delicate eyes cast us longing glances,
Ruffled in the heart of desire and crimsoned with kindness.
We fascinate each other at once, enticing our hearts with beauty,
And we will not flee serenely, though our souls do partake.
We have the nets we cast to ensnare these hearts,
And we do not abandon the doe-eyed ones wandering in her grasp.
We have fashioned a net for you from lashes and glances,
Until we become ensnared beyond oneself, entwined by its grace.
Every beautiful one in her glow smiles at us,
Her maternal traits reflecting pearls, emerging softly.
Her fragrance is captivating as daybreak, unveiling beauty,
Like one who was bewitched, accompanying her beauty.
She walked upon the bridge, enchanting admirers,
To all gazers, as she swayed in her allure.
Among all her beauties were mutual delights,
Astonishing, and every corner showcased her allure.
She confronted me; my conscience reveals her charms,
Yet I turn from my glances entranced by her flow.
More virtuous than her adornments, she transcends what is around,
And more magnanimous than her associates she transcends what is near.
She said perhaps the poet of the Nile overwhelms us,
I replied: “Can the moon dazzle what sees it?”
Between me and you, there are verses I exclaimed,
I never knew that love would whisper them to me.
And the saying, if dignified or delicate, emerges now,
Echoes the sincerity of the heart and the good manners it showcases.