How Many Casualties Have Fallen as Martyrs?
How many casualties have I become as a martyr,
In the whiteness of the lilies and the blush of the cheeks,
And the eyes of the gazelles, none like them,
Piercing through the heart of the ardent lover.
Days have flowed like a stream,
Under the shade of the trees of my homeland.
May God bless your life! Have you ever seen full moons,
Emerging from veils and garlands?
They launch arrows with tips made of the softest feathers,
Before they pierce hearts rather than flesh.
They sip from my lips exquisite droplets,
They are sweeter than the meaning of unity.
Every slender one has a tenderness more intense than wine,
With a heart harder than rock.
With branches resembling trees bathed in rosy water,
Dark as an impenetrable thicket of wild plants,
Thick and curly, devoid of any strain.
She carries musk upon her tresses,
And reveals the softness of her arms.
She fuses the beauty of Ahmad with the sweet smile,
And the softness of eyelids and tranquility.
This soul of mine rests within your grasp,
So lessen its torment or increase it.
Those who know my suffering are noble warriors,
Skilled in fine touches and adorned in elegance.
Every drop of blood is sacred,
Except the bloodshed of my kin.
So let me drink, my life for your eyes,
Of the gazelle’s essence and the comfort of my own.
The gray hair of my head, my weakness, and my gauntness,
And my tears for your love are my witnesses.
On any day that you brought me joy through your companionship,
I was not deterred by three rejections.
My stay in the land of palm trees is nothing
But like the Messiah amidst the Jews.
My bed is the saddle of the horse, yet
My shirt is intricately woven from iron.
A garment of lustrous quality, tattered like
The masterpiece woven by David’s skilled hands.
Where is my honor if I settle for quick delights,
In a life devoid of true satisfaction?
My heart is heavy, my pursuit of sustenance prolonged,
In seeking while sitting, little do I attain.
I will travel across lands, my star
In misfortune, yet my ambition is great.
Perhaps I will achieve something of worth,
By grace from a cherished patron.
In rough attire, I am allied with the sturdy,
And with those who have not yet experienced elegance.
Live nobly or die with your honor,
Amidst the strikes of spears and the fluttering of banners.
The heads of the arrows have a unique meaning for the cursed,
And they heal the malice of the envious heart.
Not as you may have wished, but rather with a noble death,
And when I die, let it be without chains.
Seek honor even in the furnace of disgrace,
Even if it leads you to the gardens of eternity.
The cowardly are justly slain, and they may escape
The grip of the newborn’s neck.
And the honorable warrior stands tall even when faced
With the waters of the turbulent Nile.
I have not gained honor through my people but rather they have through me,
And I take pride in myself, not in my ancestors.
Indeed, pride is for those who speak of it,
And the justice of the wrongdoer and the honor of the fugitive.
If I am to be admired, neither admiration is misplaced,
Nor does it discover anything beyond oneself.
I am the dew of the dawn and the lord of poetry,
And the banner for the fierce and the tormented.
I stand in a community cherished by Almighty God,
A stranger like the righteous in Thamud.
To You O Abodes in Hearts, Abodes
To you, O homes in the hearts,
You have become desolate, and while they are in your midst,
They know this, and you know not, but indeed,
The wise weep over you in despair.
And I am the one who has summoned death upon him,
So who is the claimant while the victim kills the perpetrator?
The homes are empty of deer, but within it,
Each follower is but a phantom of disappointment.
The coward possesses my heart,
And dearer to me than them is the miser.
The archers among us are stray pets,
And the deceptively sweet have blind eyes.
As if we are entirely different from the looms of gazelles,
Thus, they have traps outside the soil.
Those who strive at the male lips are mortally harmed,
And from the spears, demise follows like a chain.
And thus, the name of the veils of the eyes holds despair,
Because they are the works of swords for their crafts.
How many times have you longed for him after,
The speculative gaze has diverted your attention?
Without an embrace, we are clinging like two thin threads,
Each aiming for the other, as the seeker strives.
Enjoyment and sweetness are in the end,
If only they are the beginnings, not the ends.
As long as you are of the qualities of beauty,
The youth shall cast a transient shadow on you.
For leisure is fleeting, passing like,
Kisses bestowed by a departing beloved.
Time has galloped by, what’s sweet is not pure,
And what remains is not complete joy.
Even Abu Al-Fadl, Ibn Abdillah, has his desires,
In the aftermath of dignity and prominence missing its road.
Hidden by a veil of awe,
Turning away from the seriousness of leadership’s anxiety.
For the sun here and the winds and the rain,
And the seas and lions bear their great attributes.
He is of two distinctions, both in style and grace,
In my life and the gifts I seek.
If there wasn’t an offer of hospitality from the host,
The migrating beasts would not delight.
He knows your worth before you reveal it,
From his mind, and answers even before you inquire.
And you will find him resisting and turning away,
Yet our eyes meet when he encounters.
His words are like bars, whilst she remains his chain,
All the burdens are under them, awaiting a verdict.
His kindness has vanquished all kindnesses,
Until it seems that virtues have become burdens.
And they have created balances of weight and worth,
Mother of the burly and mother of the lightness, they are unlike.
Signposts of scholars and their endless wonder,
Is never exhausted, and for every wonder, there’s a shore.
Had the birth of every vivacious mist been as clear,
Women would have delivered distinguished offspring.
Had generosity been visible, the newborn’s identity
Would have surely revealed a son or daughter.
Let the children of Al-Hasan grow in humility,
How could they be concealed in the dark?
They have veiled the dew akin to the raven’s repudiation,
So can you discern how the rain was kept?
Without having to bare their meanings,
Would they not support the majestic cause of their lineage?
Similar souls find similarities,
And the small amongst them is chaste as his cloth.
Oh, take pride, for of the people there are three types:
Those who respect you, those who envy you, or the ignorant.
Indeed, you have risen above and do not concern yourself once more,
As they can’t grasp, is it praise or condemnation?
I praise you, though you may confidently say,
You have fallen short; restraint from my thoughts is an inconstant grace.
Bold men do not dare to recite praises here,
But I am the valiant noble.
No one among the people of ignorance has ever achieved
What I have woven with my sorcery.
And when my criticism comes from a flawed source,
That is the testimony I have to my integrity.
Who among the people could actually grasp the depth
That would classify the subcontinent amongst them with a partition?
And truth be told, you are the final measure of an oath,
For the truth belongs to you, while everything else is falsehood.
You are blessing if you have blessed,
And you are the water if a washer has washed you.
What turns in the palate of the tongue is meaningless
When it does not compare to your words of sweetness.
From Which Paths Does Generosity Approach?
From which paths does generosity approach you?
Where are the hallmarks, O Kafur, and the trappings?
Those who possess their weight have acknowledged your value,
And thus recognize that the dog is above them.
No being is more disgraceful than a male,
Led by a female without a lineage.
The lords of the whole peoples exist among them,
And the lords of the Muslims are but minuscule slaves.
Is the goal of religion to shave your mustaches,
O nation that laughing at its ignorance, the nations mock?
Is there not a lad who brings forth the Indian inquiry,
To relieve the suspicions and the accusations of men?
For it is indeed a burden that harms hearts,
From his beliefs throughout time, devoid of interruption or randomness.
How greatly Allah can humiliate His creation,
And never can a people trust those who persist in their claims.
Where are You Determined, O You of Strong Manifestations?
Where do you stand, O you of great stature?
We are the sprouts of the hill, and you are the clouds.
We are those whom time has pressured with hurt,
And the intimacy of your presence has deceived days.
In pursuit of nobility, your struggle and peace,
And this station in the fight.
Oh, I wish that when you depart, the beautiful would depart,
And that when you arrive, the tents would come down!
Every day you possess is a new endeavor,
And a journey of glory with your mention.
And when the spirits are lofty,
The bodies tire from their ambitions.
Just as the moons arise upon us,
And the vast seas tear with each wave.
We patiently behave beautifully in the light of hope,
Had we possessed anything apart from striving for you.
Every life without your blessings is but theft,
And every sun devoid of you is merely darkness.
Eliminate the severity that resides amongst us,
O you with whom the Friday assumes a friendly demeanor.
And he who engages in battles is calm,
As if in combat the struggle is a pact.
And he who smites the battalions until
The strategies and feet reunite.
And if a moment determines a space,
Then time is all the more sacred.
And he who plants joy within the lands,
And he who rains forth drinks from the clouds.
Whenever the notion arises that he has reached the end,
He is generous, no one can surpass him.
And foes oath to abate from him,
And satisfaction confounds mankind.
The power of hope with the sword of the kingdom,
Lies deep within the hearts and minds.