The Poem “Mercy of God Upon My Lady”
As Ahmad Shawqi reflects:
Mercy of God upon my lady,
And may He bless her grave and reward her.
She deprived me of comfort until she departed,
And in death’s embrace, she clothed me in luxury.
She sheltered me with water until I was veiled,
Thus, I drank honey from the abundance of her bounty.
From that point on, her abode became mine,
As well as the stores, and a vast wealth she left behind.
The hunger has been stirred by this wealth,
And deprivation walked its streets, rebuilding it.
The Poem “They Did Not Lose a Mother When They Lost You”
Poet Khalil Mataran expresses:
They did not lose a mother when they lost you,
For they lost a father, a brother, and a good partner.
You fought against the whims of fate for their growth,
You overcame time, which is no easy task.
Affection triumphed, and how evident it was,
A clear sign unveiled vividly in you.
As for the orphans, you were their shining star,
These constellations are your offspring.
You gave them life, guiding them,
On the path to success, a road well-trodden.
They grew with the noblest traits and thrived,
Among the finest of men, nurtured by your hands.
Their virtues blossomed, and their wisdom shone,
Building a legacy that will never fade.
You were the one who birthed the most beautiful flower,
Filling the eyes of purity in your assembly.
Weep, and the angels weep with you for mercy,
From the pain of separation when you were taken.
You upheld a magnificent house,
That was the foundation of kings.
You renewed its splendor with determination,
Had you not returned, it would not stand as it is.
You left your family with the best of memories,
For when days passed, they shall not forget you.
You were close to your fortune, unwilling to part with them,
And despite their loyalty, they left you behind.
Under Allah’s protection, you earned His grace,
For only eternity can suffice for you.
The Poem “They Say Rushdi Died”
Ahmad Shawqi laments:
They say Rushdi has died, I said, you speak the truth,
And my sanity died that day along with my hopes.
My support which I had prepared to face calamity,
And my resources in the past, my aid in this situation.
My luck deceived me, as did fate,
And my dignity crumbled before others.
O Rushdi, you have lived as a lord,
You were not a servant to prestige, material wealth, or control.
You held knowledge in sacredness, pursuing it fervently,
And you were never unmindful, even in times of abundance.
You elevated virtue to the highest status,
And placed the virtuous in an honored abode.
You did not choose an array of companions,
But rather, those who were precious and few.
I loved you, and the world loved you too,
And my affection for you grew as many turned against you.
By your measure, even in life and death,
Indeed, my heart could find no equal.
If a person could redeem his life from death,
I would give you my life and soul.
The Poem “A Battleground Embracing Death”
As Ibn Qalaqas writes:
A battleground that embraces death,
Crushing the heart of the fearful.
Time feared you, thus held back,
And your loyal hand appeared, ever yielding.
You drew your sword, and it was sheathed,
Your right hand against the suppliant turmoil.
And the eyes of armored shields were adorned,
As valor ignited flames of conflict.
And rain fell, nourishing the enshrined blood,
So the knights shared tales of a place, once in spring.
The Poem “O Eye, Weep for Sakhr’s Sorrows”
As Al-Khansa writes:
O eye, weep for Sakhr’s sorrows,
And for the whispers hidden in the heart.
I recalled the generosity of Sakhr, stirring me,
The memory of my beloved, amidst illness and grief.
I weep for my brother, for orphans harmed,
By the whims of time, every pain consumes me.
I mourn the adorned leader, if only
The lances did not falter on their front lines.
And for the son of the exile, whose roots were not reached,
In the realm of pride, he was unmatched.
Had there been fortunes for the ages,
Surely, there would be abundant Sakhr for the youth.
I refuse to yield, for the noble must hold on,
A protector of truth, courageous and bold,
Firm and unwavering against the chicanery of life,
He was a defender with no retreat.
A beacon that shone in the midst of shadows,
He protected the companions when the battle raged.
They uttered words, when the stakes were high,
And left the fading past, so weary from the ordeal.
As if in their worry, blood would flow endlessly,
Offering what even the soul finds hard to surrender,
From memories that remain, long after you’ve departed.
The Poem “We Lost the Head of the Tribe, and the Corner is Subdued”
As Abu Talib, the Prophet’s uncle, declares:
We lost the head of the tribe; thus, the corner is subdued,
O Abu Uthman, the house and the stone.
Hisham ibn al-Mughirah was a refuge,
When fear and poverty assailed the people.
In his verses, the widows of his kindred,
Would seek solace amid their grief.
Quraysh would have happily redeemed him with half their wealth,
And indeed, if they had, it would have been worth it.
We say to Amr, you are one of us; though we’re sad,
We plead with you in every heavy demand, O Amr.
The Poem “Everything Aside from the Imam Is Small”
As Malik al-Ashtar proclaims:
Everything aside from the Imam is insignificant,
The demise of the Imam is a grave matter.
We have been afflicted, and today we bear losses,
Men of valor are like majestic falcons.
One among them is worth a thousand great ones,
For this one’s recompense is abundant.
This assembly is sustained in goodness,
In it, there is prosperity, blessings, and joy.
He who sees the radiant face of the Imam Ali,
Indeed, he is a guiding light in the darkest night.
He is the one who guides for those who choose not to stray,
A lamp glowing in the shadows, bright and clear.
Whoever wins the Imam’s favor shall enter paradise,
With his sins forgiven, as his prayers are answered.
Once he fulfills that which Allah has commanded,
There will be no room for misguidance.
The Poem “O Eye, Weep and Do Not Tire”
As Abu Bakr Al-Siddiq (may Allah be pleased with him) writes:
O Eye, weep, and do not tire,
For it is right to mourn our leader,
For one of virtues and noble traits,
And for the pure lineage and lineage divine.
The one who was the shelter during calamity,
In whose shadow we found peace.
Now he is buried in his resting place,
May the Creator of humanity and the dwellers of the land pray for Ahmad.
How is it to live on after love,
Amidst gatherings and scenes so cherished?
If only death had struck all of us,
And we could all join the guided ones.
The Poem “The Birth of Eternity”
As George Gres Fareh mourning his mother writes:
How, O mother, did the heart cease its beating?
How did the earth embrace you?
And the depths of the grave?
Is there still pain there?
Are there still eyes that weep?
Or, is there comfort,
Serenity,
And enjoyment?
You parted from us in an instant,
In a moment of distraction,
Leaving us in turmoil,
Where neither consolation,
Nor prayers,
Nor the heavens shall return,
The oil of the lamp to the lamp,
Nor its light shall shine again…
Can the cup of love remain filled, O mother,
To enrich the thirsty?
Does it endlessly overflow with tenderness,
Even when the pourer is absent?
Will it still quench us,
Even in your absence?
How difficult this is!
Such bitter farewells!
How incredibly hard they are!
I will not approach it,
I will not seek it,
But I come seeking nourishment of love,
A sustenance of heart,
And a path,
From your affection that satisfies,
To be shared amongst those who mourned you,
To bear witness,
And to affirm,
That departing from life is but a beginning,
A birth of eternal remembrance,
In hearts,
And an abode…