The Struggles of Life
As stated by Abu al-Qasim al-Shabi:
Life is a struggle
Where the weak is trampled on
Only the strongest
Can triumph over its trials.
In this realm, challenges abound,
So be vigilant and cautious.
The universe is one of healing,
It is a space of confusion,
A place of creation,
And noise alongside theft.
In this existence,
Joy and sorrow are indistinguishable.
Between calamities lies a gap,
For humanity has its advantages.
Some only recognize
The call of despair,
While others experience
Only minor afflictions.
Indeed, life is a deep slumber,
To be ended by mortality,
And the visions we harbor
Are mere hopes and sins.
If one awakens, remnants linger
Between the eyelids.
All calamities… together,
Perish, and peace prevails!
Shame is a disgrace,
Unacceptable to those of honor!
Dawn emerges after darkness,
Shedding light upon us.
The night reluctantly rests
On the bed of tranquility.
For nations, life is a cycle,
Sometimes thriving, sometimes fading.
Despair is a death, yet
A death that ignites suffering.
For diligence is the spirit of the people,
Inspiring them toward happiness.
When it is absent,
Their lives confront adversity.
The Philosophy of Existence
As articulated by Elia Abu Madi:
O you who complain without ailment,
How will you fare if you become unwell?
The greatest misdeeds on earth arise
From a soul that longs for escape before its time.
It sees thorns among the blooms and is blind
To the dew that crowns them.
Such burdens are heavy on life;
Life should not be viewed as a weighty load.
He who lacks beauty in his soul
Sees nothing beautiful in existence.
No one is more unfortunate than one
Who perceives life as bittersweet
And considers pleasures as trivial.
Wisest among men are those
Who have pondered it well and found enlightenment.
Rejoice in the morning while you can,
Fear not its departure until it fades away.
And when burdens cloud your mind,
Shorten your search to avoid prolonging strife.
Poem of Life
Fadwa Tuqan expresses:
My life is composed of tears,
A heart filled with longing,
And a yearning, a collection of poetry, and a lute.
My life, all sorrowful,
If tomorrow its shadow fades,
Will leave an echo on this earth,
Resounding my voice in a song:
My life is composed of tears,
A heart filled with longing,
And a yearning, a collection of poetry, and a lute.
In the grief-laden nights
And the depths of silence,
Fleeting before me like a dream that glides,
Visions of beloveds buried beneath the earth,
Ignite once more the embers of my sorrow,
And a torrent of tears floods my pillow.
Tears of nostalgia
For those who have departed,
Swallowed by the darkness of graves.
Within my orphaned heart,
My thoughts call out,
“Oh, father, appear,”
“To look from your eternal horizon.”
Your passing is a disgrace,
What shame indeed,
While we remain here, caught between
Serpents of connection,
And venomous breath,
And schemes of foes,
In this world of ingratitude and denial.
And a shadow arises,
From the quiet nights,
The image of my father cuts through the veil of the unseen,
His eyes reflect a feeling of gloom.
I see him, and tears flow for him,
He offers me solace and weeps with me.
I call out, “Come,”
“Your departure is prolonged,”
“Who will shelter us while you are away?”
In the night of my vigil,
My longing stirs,
A brother, once a source of warmth and love,
Was the light to my eyes and heart.
But fierce winds of fate blew,
Extinguishing the precious flame.
Now I stand alone,
With no guiding light,
Lost in confusion in this existence,
And in this youth,
Awash with haunting dreams.
Youth watered by grief,
When life called upon it,
And its longings, bound by a thousand chains,
Enwreathed in a thousand humiliating confines.
This is a youth of torment,
Entangled in estrangement,
Its fragrance lost among the grips of chains:
I bow my head,
Yearning with despair,
Within my spirit the longings roar,
And within my soul, the horizons tremble.
I find solace in poetry, my spirit’s delight,
As I encapsulate the longings of a slashed life…
My feelings quiet,
And my spirit calms,
As the yearning of my wandering soul rests.
I draw my lute,
To my lonely heart,
Its strings resonate with melodies,
Soothing my heart and unraveling my sorrows,
With my art, my poetry, and the tunes from my lute.
I wrestle with the pains of a martyr’s life,
And this is my anthem,
The anthem of my existence,
Whose echoes shall remain behind, repeating:
My life is composed of tears,
A heart filled with longing,
And a yearning, a collection of poetry, and a lute!