O Constrictor of Eyebrows by Bashar Al-Khuri
Bashar Al-Khuri once said:
O you who constrict your eyebrows upon the silver brow,
If you aim to kill me, then you’ve already slain me twice.
What could possibly trouble you about me, and what grievances have I caused?
Is it a flicker in my brow, or a quiver in my hands?
A gazelle leaps between the pavement and me.
I have neither set traps nor allowed my eyes a glance.
You seem not to see me, even though your eyes are filled with mine.
Just like your actions mirror my own; oh, the folly of the foolish!
My Lord, you have left me alive with just two breaths remaining.
I have endured until my yearning enveloped me, and my time approached.
You will deprive me of poetry, and that is no trivial matter.
I fear that the verses will call upon you from the two Eastern horizons.
The Dark Eyes by Elia Abu Madi
Elia Abu Madi proclaimed:
If only He who created the dark eyes,
Had fashioned hearts that beat with fervor!
Had it not been for their charming allure,
No owner of a heart would have desired conquest.
Shield your heart from the arrows of their gazes,
Or perish as the love chooses to do.
If you behold beauty without feeling its ache,
You are but an unrefined soul, lacking depth.
If you seek pleasure intertwined with longing,
Then you have sought the elusive amidst the found.
Oh woe to my heart, for it resides beside me,
And I fear it is far from the place we call home.
A Cup of Passion by Mahmoud Al-Haleebi
I will pour my heart into a cup of passion for the one who savors the essence of my soul with poetry, cardamom, and saffron! I will serve it to the one whose eyes hold a wildness that draws me in, where her eyelids embrace me tenderly! I will pour it for the one who cradles me in a translucent dream that engages the gaze of a clever youth, who has since childhood become accustomed to kissing the warm ink on pages of a pure heart, ignited by a flame in the soul! I will serve it to the one who craves my tears as bitter salt, whenever my seas stir and rage, overflowing the vessel of my sorrow, as time compresses and the space grows loud! To the one who runs to me when wounds shout and my bleeding charts paths for grief within, embracing my lament, her hands soothing around me, singing to me the gentle rustle of the breeze for the lilac! To the one who awakens my thoughts to melodies of her profound essence, allowing me to journey within her while she travels within me on the wings of certainty, along a road that rejoices in the greenery of safety! To the one I have yet to find, except upon the turbulent waves of a relentless dream, where a vision of a mermaid appears, drifting and floating, waking and sleeping, leaving behind me the shores of tranquility and the desert of despair; I wrestle with her love’s sorrowful tunes, within which the lament of the lute spills secrets to her and sighs back at me, orchestrating quiet harmonies!
The Definition of Passion by Nizar Qabbani
Nizar Qabbani expressed:
What purpose do my confessions serve? Prior to me, many have written about love, portraying it on the walls of caves, within clay pots and earthenware,
They inscribed it on the ivory of elephants in India, on papyrus paper in Egypt, and layered rice in China, offering it as sacrifices and vows.
When I chose to share my thoughts on passion, I hesitated. I am neither a priest, nor have I taught students, nor do I believe that roses must explain their fragrance to the world.
What shall I write, my lady? This is my own experience, and it concerns me alone.
It is the sword that pierces me alone, and with it, I amplify my presence even in death.
As I sailed through your sea, my lady, I did not consult the nautical charts or carry a rubber boat or a life preserver.
Instead, I plunged toward your fire like a Buddhist, choosing my fate.
My pleasure lay in writing with chalk, inscribing my name upon the sun, and building bridges upon your shoulders.
When I loved you, I noticed the red cherries in our orchard had turned into glowing embers,
And that the fish, fearful of the children’s hooks, came in droves, seeking to cast their seeds upon our shores.
The cypress grew taller, and life expanded in all dimensions, as if God had returned to Earth at last.
When I fell for you, I saw summer arriving ten times a year,
And wheat flourishing tenfold every day, while the moon, fleeing from our village, sought shelter in our hearts.
The mixture of sweat, sugar, and anise became profoundly linked to love.
When I adored you, the laughter of children worldwide became sweeter.
The taste of bread was enriched, the falling snow grew lovelier, and the meow of the black cats in the streets became enchanting.
Every touch of hands along the “Red” pavements grew sweeter,
The little drawings left on the restaurant’s napkins became more delightful,
The black coffee, smoking, and Saturday evenings became infused with bliss.
The faint outline of sand remained inked on our bodies from the weekend, the copper hue on your back after the summer left became more enchanting,
And the magazines we slept on, stretching and chatting for hours, transformed into birds in the realm of reminiscence.
When I loved you, my lady, praise be to the trees of pineapples in your eyes,
And the thousands of acres beneath the sun, providing me the keys to the heavens, presenting me with honors, gifts of silk.
When I endeavored to pen my love, I faced great agony.
I am submerged within the ocean, and only those who have been lost in the depths of the seas for ages understand the pressure of the waters.
What shall I say regarding your love, my lady? All that my memory recalls is that I woke from slumber one morning to find myself a prince.