Good Morning, Companions, Speak Freely
Good morning, companions, speak freely.
And recount the tales of the caravan if you wish, and be truthful.
Speak of how their burdens were lifted at night,
Like a doe that wanders without distraction.
They settled down and made themselves comfortable,
Lightened by the craft of decorative Iraq.
And above them were fabrics and jewels,
That were infused with an alluring scent of musk and lilies.
So I followed them slowly, as a wall of sand complex;
In pursuit of a community aiming for a purpose.
They halted alongside the precious aloes or the misty valley,
And I found solace when they parted upon a bridge,
At Amoun, like a structure built by an anxious community.
When tethered, it resided amidst the property of affectionate lineage.
It moves, clinging to a date bunch from the lineage of Ibn Marnuq.
It wanders off like a dusk breeze of spreading clouds,
Pursuing a scattering storm on its voyage.
As if here, a slender beast bolts away,
In every path it encounters, into every problematic situation.
As if I, with my saddle and provisions, are drifting,
Upon the kind of soil covered with herbs.
It wanders from land to land, longing for reminders of droughts,
Round the cherished white houses adorned with conch shells.
It scours the horizons of the lands in the west,
And the gentle breeze pulverizes everything in its wake.
And a dwelling resonates with musk within its confines,
Far from adversities, without vexation.
I entered a large white house, its sides tall and imposing,
It slid down from the sky as the stars settled in at quiet times.
And was still, like the gatherings of the flourishing trees.
Before dawn, I was in a shelter,
Robust in its structure as a conversation starter.
We dispatched a companion beforehand, heavily laden,
Like a wolf in the bush, walking stealthily to keep away from trouble.
He moved like a lightfooted creature, lifting its head,
While his surroundings shimmered like resilient dust.
And he arrived quietly, pressing against the ground
So that the soil adhered firmly to whatever it touched.
And he said, “Is this a palace or a familiar tent?”
And a thread of ostrich plumes scattered in disarray.
Thus, we came to the remnants of the bridle, though it stood
In the shadow of a kind, untouched branch.
We lingered there until we brought forth our young one,
Upon a broad-backed mount, resembling a well-tanned hide.
It seemed as if my lad, upon reaching a height,
Was atop a hawk soaring through the sky,
Spotted a rabbit and descended toward it,
While pursued with an undistracted glance.
I said to him: “Aim carefully, and do not overstrain yourself,
So that it eludes from the height of the quail.”
Thus, they fled like scattered branches between him,
By the neck of a lad donning a collared garment.
And he caught them again with another swift move,
Like the evening rain that descends with fullness.
He brought us a donkey, a bull, and a slender one,
In pursuit, without splashing water to dampen.
And my lad continued to hold the spear around him,
For every fierce beast or mezquite of the gentle kind.
And he stood tall as the one revered when honored,
And we said: “Indeed, it was a successful hunt.”
And they hid from us every beautifully adorned part.
And my companions basked in the luxury of a pleasant atmosphere,
Describing a cave rich in opulence.
And we set out as if blown by the evening’s southerly warmth,
Shepherding among the sheep, between fairness and a noose.
And we established ourselves, like the son of water, guarding our center,
Even as our eyes fix upon it from time to time.
And it became a rejoicing atmosphere, causing our lad to falter,
Much like the golden cup in expert hands.
As if the blood of sacrifices coursed through his veins,
A blend of henna’s essence stained with torn strands.
Good Morning, O Old Ruins
Good morning, O decrepit ruins,
And will there be any delights from the past ages?
Will there be any joy except from the eternal,
With few troubles, escaping life’s complexities?
Will there be any joy for those whose remembered times span,
Thirty months amidst three conclusions?
Residences belonging to Salma, with flourishing plants around.
Every pouring lept into the air.
And you would think that Salma can still see a specter,
From the wildness or the white surroundings of connecting pathways.
And you would think that Salma, we still remain as in the past,
In the valleys where the fragrant herbs still blossom.
During Salma’s nights when you show her the highlands,
Her neck adorned like the beauty’s chain, shining and praised.
Did you claim today that with the finger of the moment, I have aged,
And that jesting is ill-suited for the likes of me?
That was false; indeed I long for engagement,
And the feast of life binds me to the untouched.
Oh, the day would shine, the night possess,
With a companion, as if she were a statue’s figure.
The lantern brightens her face while she reclines,
Like an oil lamp casting light amidst the gloomy darkness.
Like glowing embers rest within her locks,
Sparks flicker, casting bowers amid the day.
Like a playful child, innocent and spirited,
Distracting me from my coverings when I rise.
With motifs encircling her limbs of delicate grace,
Like a soft flower balancing amidst petals.
A lovely softness curling the skin, avoiding heavy weights,
If she ever unfastens herself, vibrating with lightness.
Her attire swayed, curling above her lovely forms,
From the peak of her home overlooking high vistas.
I gazed upon her, and the stars seemed to glimmer,
Like candles of more serene monks.
I soared to her after peaceful rest in her surroundings,
An elevated stream of water flowing at dawn.
She said: “You have indeed humiliated yourself, revealing my faults;
Do you not see the guests with their intentions around me?”
I replied, “By my lord, I shall not stir away;
Even if my head were severed in your domain.”
I swore an oath by my lord, lowly oaths of honesty,
While they were rested, nor did we speak or laugh.
And when disputes rose, and she permitted,
I grasped a branch with its bunches extending wide.
And we turned towards kindness; our words softened,
And I humbled myself before her as any binding request.
So I became beloved, and her husband,
Upon him gathered unfavorable tidings and uncertainties.
He stirs in zeal like a mother swan held firmly on her flight;
To kill me while the man is not a killer —
Will I be slain while the spirited one awakens beside me,
With azure eyes like the fangs of a dreaded animal?
He lacks a weapon to pierce me so,
Nor does he carry a sword, nor a bow.
Will he spoil me while I am enchanted by her heart,
As he would torment the bewitched by love?
And Salma knows, though her husband seems near,
That the man may contemplate and speak with no action.
And what matters if I recall lovely moments,
Like gazelles at play in ornate gardens?
And my home serves as a sanctuary, on the day when I dared enter,
Roaming the soft meadows with sustained dreams.
The straps of the fighters, and the playful girls,
Embody the softness of the buildings displayed sharply.
And the joys guide the soul down paths of tranquility,
They say to the wise in thought, “Lest you wander.”
I diverted affection from them, cautioned by fears of folly,
And am I not a stranger to the meanings of connection?
It would seem I never rode a horse to enjoy,
Nor entwined arms with one adorned in charm.
Neither sought the delicate drink, nor could I have implied,
For my horse galloped with vigor after escaping.
I did not witness the horses at dawn racing,
Upon the statuesque figure of battle encampments.
Unbroken were the paths to valiant hearts.
I went forth while the birds found their nests,
In desires born for dew-like rapture in purey delight.
With edges meeting winds in diverse shapes and forms,
Drawn towards the bloom of thick soil.
As the splendor highlights each desire’s thread,
When embracing intentions brings forth nature’s joys.
And he moves like sprightly whispers beneath the sky,
To partake of joys despite shadows cast by regret.
And life remained restless within faint strains of existence.
We Are Two Set for a Fateful Matter
We are two placed for an uncertain affair,
As we revel in sustenance and drinks.
Birds, flies, and worms gather,
More daring than even the wolves howling.
So bear with me, as doubt fills the air,
For my experiences guide me towards fortune.
Entwined with the roots buried within the soil,
And this death, stealing youth from me.
My soul will soon be wrenched, as wrongdoing edges me,
Thus catching up swiftly in the grip of dust.
Have I not traversed the path across each fault,
In whispers, in glinting transparent mirages?
And I ride through the flowing climes until
I attain the meals amid luscious hills.
Every virtue of character now avails to me,
Mainly motivated by my endeavors and accomplishments.
And I have wandered through distant realms, until
I found satisfaction in the bounty of my return.
Beyond al-Harith, the king, the son of Amr,
And further from the wealth of Hajar, with its purifying peaks.
Whom I hope beyond the trials of time with grace,
And certainly not to disregard the wise hills.
And I know, soon, things will seize me,
In nets woven with sharp delight and fate.
As encountered by my father and grandfather,
And the memory of my slayer directs me still.