The Critique of the Censors Concerning My Wandering Heart by Al-Mutanabbi
The censors’ critique of my wandering heart
And the love of beloved ones deepens within its dark abyss.
It laments the blame to the reproachers for its heat,
And turns away when they scold it about its sorrows.
By my very soul, O my critic, the king whom
I have angered is more adept at seeking your approval.
If he has indeed captured hearts, then he has
Conquered both the earth and skies of his domain.
Is the sun from his adversaries? And victory from
His fellow warriors? And the sword from his names?
Where are the three from his three virtues?
From his beauty, his nobility, and his daring?
Time has passed, yet none can compare to him;
Indeed, I despair for there are no peers to rival him.
Separation Has Become a Substitute for Our Proximity by Ibn Zaydun
Separation has become a substitute for our closeness,
And distance has taken the place of our sweet meetings.
Ah, as the dawn of parting has arrived, we were indeed
Awakened by the herald of grief that proclaims our fate.
Who will inform our companions, with their departure,
Of our sorrow that persists, enduring with time?
The time that once brought laughter has now returned
To bring us tears with its distance from them.
The enemies’ jealousy of our shared love prompted them
To wish for our discomfort; thus, time echoed their wishes.
But that which was bound tight within us has loosened,
And that which was joined by our hands has come undone.
And we may find ourselves, and with the fear of separation,
Yet today, we possess the hope of reunification.
Oh, how I wish to know, and if we’ve never reproached or
Blamed each other in vain, has our mutual concern gone to waste?
We did never think of anything but loyalty towards you;
This was our belief, and we accepted no other faith.
How unjust it is for you to bring comfort to those who envy us
And to please those who harbor resentment against us.
We once saw despair as a source of calm for our passions,
And having despaired, what need do we have for further temptation?
Though you departed, our spirits have not grown weary,
From longing for you, nor have our eyes run dry.
We feel, when our consciences seek your company,
That anguish would overcome us were it not for our pretense.
Our days have turned bleak due to your absence, making them,
Dark, while they were once bright with your presence.
When the bonds of life loosen from our gathering,
And the abode of leisure becomes distant from our encounters.
And as we have confined the arts of connection, close
To us, we have gathered the fruits of joy we desired.
May your commitment to joy endure, for never
Have you offered anything but fragrance to our souls.
Do not believe that your distance from us will change us,
As long as the distance itself has changed those who love!
By my life, our hearts have never sought substitutes
From you, nor have our wishes bent away from you.
O swift lightning, departing from the palace, water it
For those who are purely filled with love and affection.
And there, ask: does remembrance of us linger
In the heart, while such memories still haunt us?
And O, gentle breeze of dawn, convey our greetings
To one who, though far, would honor us as they live.
Andalusian by Ahmed Shawqi
O weeper of the Acacia, echoing our sorrows,
Do we grieve for your valley or lament our own lands?
What do you relay to us other than your pain,
Which has severed your wing and wandered through our meadows?
Parting has thrown us, without a companion,
Oh, brother of the estranged: we still hear no call.
Everyone is struck down by fate’s arrow; the feathers of separation
Have pierced us, and sorrow has sharpened its dagger upon you.
If longing beckons, we do not linger in the shadows,
From both of the wings that cannot bring us solace.
If kinship, O son of Acacia, has driven us apart,
Then calamities indeed bring together those who mourn.
Your waters have not quenched our thirst nor soothed,
Neither have they offered respite or melancholy to our verses.
One pulls from a branch to a different bough,
While the one who lingers drags the burdens of grief upon us.
Alas, what remedy exists for such a restless spirit?
Who will heal your soul amidst the desolation of the Andalus?
And if we hold vigil, a fluttering from our hands,
We would shed tears, as reverence still weighs upon us.
For the youth whom this earth does not yield tears for,
Will not part from them except in prayer.
If it were not for dominion limiting them,
They would still possess virtues that define their character.