Love Poem in the Desert
By Ibrahim Nagy:
I love you as long as I live; you are my only solace,
So try to find a heart after mine.
Oh, how I mourn the desert of my life,
Which has been deprived of responding rains since you left.
My days in it are mere mirages,
And my nights are full of falsehood and deception.
In my ears, there are grievances from your lips,
Whenever I lay down on my side for just a moment.
And those caravans of days keep passing by,
Turning into illusions after each group.
Frowns that do not reveal your light,
And I have not caught a glimpse of the dawn with a procession.
If the eyes of fate are blind to us,
And I became close to you unknowingly,
It is clear to me that these are the tents of my love,
And I am igniting the fire of my heart for you.
The Most Beautiful Love Poem
By Mahmoud Darwish:
Just as grass grows between the seams of a rock,
We found ourselves as strangers one day,
While the spring sky composed stars, one after another,
And I crafted a verse of love,
For your eyes… I sang it!
Do your eyes know that I waited for a long time,
Just as summer waits for a bird?
And I slept… like a migrant sleeps,
One eye sleeps to awaken another… for a long time,
And cries for its sister.
We are in love, only until the moon sleeps,
And we know that embrace and kisses
Are the sustenance of passionate nights.
And that dawn calls my steps to continue,
On a new day’s path!
We are friends, so walk beside me hand in hand,
Together we create news and songs.
Why ponder this road… what fate
It leads us to?
And where do we gather our feet?
For me, and for you, we walk…
Together, forever.
Why search among the songs of sorrow
In an old poetry anthology?
And ask, O love, will it last?
I love you with the love of caravans, an oasis of grass and water,
And with the love of a pauper for his bread!
Just as grass grows between the seams of a rock,
We found ourselves as strangers one day,
And we remain companions forever.
Love Poem Without Limits
By Nizar Qabbani:
O my lady:
You were the most important woman in my history,
Before the year left us.
Now, you are the most important woman again,
After the birth of this year.
You are a woman I do not measure by hours or days.
You are a woman…
Crafted from the fruit of poetry,
And the gold of dreams.
You were a woman who inhabited my body
Long before millions of years.
O my lady:
Woven from cotton and mist.
O rain of rubies…
O rivers of Nehawand…
O marble forests,
O one who swims like fish in the waters of the heart,
And dwells in my eyes like a flock of doves.
Nothing will change in my feelings,
In my emotions…
In my sentiments… in my faith…
I will remain steadfast in my Islam.
O my lady:
Do not trouble yourself with the rhythm of time and the names of the years.
You are a woman who remains a woman… in all times.
I will love you…
Upon entering the twenty-first century…
And upon entering the twenty-fifth century…
And upon entering the twenty-ninth century…
And I will love you…
When the waters of the sea dry…
And the forests burn…
O my lady:
You are the essence of all poetry…
The flower of all liberties.
It is enough for me to spell your name,
To become the king of poetry…
And the pharaoh of words.
It is enough for me that a woman like you loves me,
To enter the pages of history…
And have banners lifted for me.
O my lady,
Do not flutter like a bird in the festive season.
Nothing will change in me.
The river of love will never cease to flow.
The heartbeat will not stop its beating.
The pigeon of poetry will not stop its flight.
When love is vast…
And the beloved is the moon…
This love will not turn into
A bundle of straw consumed by fire.
O my lady:
There is nothing that can fill my eyes,
No lights…
No decorations…
No holiday bells…
No Christmas trees.
The street means nothing to me.
The tavern means nothing to me.
No words written on holiday cards mean anything to me.
O my lady:
All I remember is your voice,
When the bells of Sundays toll.
I remember only your fragrance,
When I sleep on the grass paper.
I remember only your face,
When the snow falls upon my clothes,
And I hear the cracking of firewood.
What delights me, O my lady,
Is to huddle like a frightened bird
Among the gardens of lashes…
What dazzles me, O my lady,
Is that you gift me a pen of ink…
That I embrace…
And sleep happily like a child.
O my lady:
How happy I am in my exile.
I pour the water of poetry…
And drink from the wine of the monks.
How strong I become…
When I am a friend
Of freedom and humanity…
O my lady:
How I wish I had loved you in the Enlightenment era…
And in the era of photography…
And in the era of pioneers.
How I wish to meet you one day
In Florence,
Or in Cordoba,
Or in Kufa,
Or in Aleppo,
Or in a house in the alleys of Sham…
O my lady:
How I wish we could travel
To lands ruled by guitars,
Where love is without fences,
And words are without borders,
And dreams are without boundaries.
O my lady:
Do not worry about the future, my lady,
My longing will remain stronger than ever,
And fiercer than it ever was…
You are a woman who will not repeat itself…
In the history of flowers…
In the history of poetry…
In the memory of lilies and basil…
O lady of the world,
What occupies me is nothing but your love in the days to come.
You are my first woman.
My first mother
My first womb
My first passion
My first desire
My lifebuoy in the flood of time…
O my lady:
O first lady of poetry,
Extend your right hand so I can hide in it…
Extend your left hand,
So I can dwell in it…
Say any phrase of love,
So that the celebrations may begin.
Oh Love, The Remedy for Love is Lost
By Bashar ibn Burd:
Oh love, the remedy for love is lost,
Except in your presence; is what I seek still existent?
She said: “Seek what you desire,” and I replied:
O love, your mouth captivates the heart, and your eyes and neck too.
Do not toy with my life; cut off my hopes
For I can endure death, since it is destined.
Your visions summon death to come early,
And if I die, my fate is attached to you forever.
You are the queen of my soul and body;
So adorn me with your charms.
Do not outstrip me to death; just wait for me,
On a day that seems to fold me up in black or white.
Some have blamed me for you, and I say to them:
What is the fault of someone whose heart is warmed and exhausted?
I wasn’t the first madman in love with a maid,
For it withered her heart while she was sturdy.
Criticism has incited me against unheeding ears,
And that beautiful-eyed creature in two strands of hair.
I loved my love though my love could not be attained;
For one who does not possess anything, it hath been mere rocks.
How lamentable is love that turns to stone,
Yet indeed, I neither have stone nor wood.
She turns heavy and becomes comatose
As if she’s a statue in a sacred place.
She has slept without my finding sleep after seeing her;
And can a scorching eye ever find rest?
O the beauty of my love when she stands for her neighbor,
And in the evening, her hips are soft and serene.
Like the pleasure of youths who cure,
And the intoxication of death if not fulfilled.
She offers to you whatever you desire from bonds and promises,
For the vow is near, while the door to obtain is shut.
My head has cast away my love due to her stinginess;
What good is the life of a man when the cup is withdrawn?
Indeed, I envy the newborn who walks on foot,
And with me ailments that no newborn has.
I see a wrap around my love, and I envy it,
For the wrap holds that which it desires.
O dear companion of my needs and mistress,
Until I grieve, and sleep has become denied.
Say what you wish for my love; for I desire to see her:
If there was but a close distance or distance.
I found my eyes either quenched or hoping for grant,
Of bounty and plenty of amusement devoid of ire.
There is no good in promises not fulfilled,
So grant me the vows, for generosity is commendable.
Not every lover can be sweet as a farm,
For if the water is missed, appointments will suffice.
If you do not bestow the promised honor, do not promise;
How ugly is a promise adorned by generosity!
I questioned my love, but no man is left
Whose tongue refuses to inquire of others.
As if he is avoiding the open-mouthed snakes,
Or rather, I am being tested with acts of kindness.
A generous man gives you freely before inquiry,
Before a question, and the way of the servant is clear.