My Father
- In tribute to his father, Nizar Qabbani expresses his deep sorrow:
Did your father pass away?
In my confusion, I refuse to accept that my father is gone.
For in this home,
There are scents of divinity and memories of a prophet.
This is his corner; those are his belongings,
Awakening a thousand tender memories.
His newspaper, his tobacco, his resting place,
As if my father has not departed.
The ashtray and his coffee cup,
Remain untouched, still waiting.
And his glasses, do glass and crystal
Forget eyes that gleamed brighter than the sunset?
His remnants linger in the spacious rooms,
As persistent as ravens at play.
As I wander through the corners,
Wherever I pass, I recall his presence.
I grasp his hands, I lean close,
Offering my prayers on his weary chest.
Father, you still reside among us, the conversations
Echoing like glasses clinking at the refreshment.
He keeps us company; the fruitful grapevines,
Blooming from his sweet essence.
Father, a tale born from a paradise,
A meaning from wide, endless realms.
And my father’s eyes provide refuge for stars,
Does the East remember my father’s eyes?
With memories of summer from my father,
Vines and planetary recollections…
Oh father, oh my father, the sweetness of history
Follows you – so do not grieve…
As we carry forth your name, it leads us from the pleasures
Of sweet moments to even sweeter realms.
I have carried you in the bright gaze of my eyes, until
It seems to others that I am my father…
I bear you even in the tone of my voice,
So how could you have left, when you remain within me?
If the essence of home has offered us,
Then, within this house, there are a thousand golden tongues.
We opened our doors to July,
For in summer, my father must surely return…
They asked me why I did not mourn my father
- The famous Egyptian poet, Ahmed Shawqi, laments his father through a poignant poem:
They queried: why did I not mourn my father?
For mourning a father is a debt – what a debt it is!
O you reproachers, how blind you are!
Where’s the reason that brings joy to the weary mind?
O my father, you were never first in this affair,
Every soul is destined for demise.
Before you, many have perished, towns too,
And mourners cried for the best of the two worlds.
The essence of life, even with the longest span,
Eventually claims all with its hand.
And a physician tends to the helpless,
Dispelling their hidden longings.
Death has a hand that can strike;
Its grip can shatter the unity of the stars.
It spreads through the air, on the heels of the lion,
And it brings down fledglings from their nests.
It even reaches the parrot at the two hundred mark.
I am those who died, and I die as well,
We met death, both of us, twice.
We were a pulse within one body,
Then became a pulse in two bodies.
Then we returned as a pulse within one again,
Only to end up as two corpses in shrouds.
Then we live in the exalted realm,
And through him, we are resurrected, the first resurrection.
Consider the universe and express it in words:
Say: they are mercy in two kinds of grace.
They have lost paradise in creating us,
And we have experienced their bounty in two gardens.
They are the excuse when angered,
And they are the clemency we seek when needing peace.
I wish to know: which living soul has not been bound,
By what we were accused of as beginners?
My father is but a brother I have lost,
And but death has taken all but parents.
We used to rise to a table,
Where a single morsel felt like two.
We drank from one vessel,
And washed our hands thereafter in it.
We walked hand in hand; those who saw us,
Called us brothers.
Time regarded us with a gaze,
That twisted fate, creating two separate views.
O my father, death is a bitter cup,
No soul can taste it twice.
How was the hour when I spent it,
Everything before it or after it seems trivial?
Did you sip death in a single dose,
Or did you taste death twice then?
Fear not after you for sadness or tears,
For my eyes are now frozen without you.
You taught me to abandon sorrow,
For everything beautiful ends in death’s disgrace.
I wonder, will we meet again someday,
Or shall this be our final separation?
If I die and am laid to rest in the soil,
Shall I find but a grave, or perhaps two graves?
I never imagined after your passing, O my father
- Abu al-Qasim al-Shabbi mourns his father with heartfelt verses:
I never thought, after your departure, O my father,
That I would thirst for life and drink
From its blazing, intoxicating river.
I assumed I would return to this realm with a hopeful heart,
For love, joy, and melodies filled with delight.
And for all the images of hope within the universe,
And the peculiar whims and sorrows that ensue.
Until the years went by and life beckoned,
Entrancing with its enchanting splendor.
Yet, I remained a child, captivated,
Chasing the lights and the hues.
As if pessimism toward life and denial of its essence,
Were merely fabrications of a delusional mind.
Indeed, mankind is innately drawn,
To life with steadfast belief.
How can I forget you, O my father?
- Abdullah Al-Faisal’s poignant poem in memory of his father:
What memory returns to me after a year,
In which my wounds remain unhealed?
Which spring month of my youth has passed,
Leaving me to struggle with these aches inside?
What calamity was it that I dreaded,
That broke my resolve and shattered my defense?
What orphanhood has humiliated my enduring cries,
Displaying my sorrow in the morning’s embrace?
What day did I bid farewell to my beloved,
Then surrendered my soul to lamentation?
It was the day of my demise before death,
When the light trembled in my lamp.
It was a day I wished could linger close,
Near the cherished echoes of my revelry.
It was the day of Faisal’s descent, where he fell,
Prostrating to God with unwavering conviction.
A day when he was the essence of existence,
Filling the world with piety and righteousness.
I wish I could serve as a ransom for what could not be,
For my joys perished with his passing.
“Faisal,” the sword that never feared the sheath,
Never enjoyed quenching its thirst for glory.
O you, a beacon of truth and faith,
Who left behind the greatest legends of valor.
How can I express my grief for you through my verses,
When my lines feel but short of the wings?
How can I mourn you when eternity met you,
Transforming you into a symbol of success?
How can I elevate the smile of serenity to my lips,
While life carries on beneath your shadow?
How can I not view existence as a torment,
Enveloping me in despair?
How can I bear to hold back my tears,
When I have no fears left in you?
How can I forget you, O my father? How can your sweet image,
Not be erased from my thoughts?
No one but God, I entreat, gives me patience,
To reunite with you in the expansive garden of eternity.