Sadness
Sadness is a human emotion marked by pain and is the opposite of joy. When a person experiences sadness, they often become silent and calm. This feeling is frequently accompanied by tears, a burden we hope to be spared. Sadness can be destructive, leading its bearer to a state of unhappiness and isolation. Even poets have captured their sorrowful feelings in verses that resonate deeply and move others to tears.
Poem: O Joy and You O Sadness
The poet is Muslim ibn al-Walid Al-Ansari, known as “The Victim of Beauties” (757 AH – 823 AH). He is regarded as one of the prominent poets of the Abbasid era. Of Persian origin and Arab loyalty, he earned his title from Caliph Harun al-Rashid due to a particular verse he composed. Here is an excerpt from his poetry:
O Joy, and you, O Sadness,
Why did I not die when the caravans departed?
Did my lifespan extend, or is my end near?
Is there no sorrow in the travelers for me?
Did not the trails lament my absence?
Oh, would that the water of the Euphrates could tell us,
Where have the ships, with their passengers, gone?
How beautiful is death when they part,
And how wretched is life when they are gone?
Pity the lovers; how shall I comfort them?
They have suffered in pursuit and found affliction.
These doves, when they weep and call out,
Find solace in their lamentation.
Who will aid me in my longing
If my beloved is estranged from me?
I have endured love, for I have been tested by it,
And all my secrets, both hidden and revealed, have died.
You, who created my sin, leave me in darkness,
Your neglect in sins is a trial for me.
When I have no favor to thank you for,
That is not for you, but rather for me to seek.
You are unaware of my connection, yet you know me,
And you are learned in the language of abandonment.
After you, happiness fought against me,
While sadness made peace in my loss.
My spirit and soul are intertwined,
What love has clothed me in, I can never remove.
Weakened by the love I am enamored with,
Until fatigue consumes me without escaping.
Love for a young girl, a delightful model,
In her affection for me lies seduction.
When she drew near to the bed, it became pleasurable,
The embrace was warm, and her warmth was a treasure.
How beautiful is a woman who has never known eyeliner,
And the elegance of her gaze is not faint.
In my heart, for her love, a branch emerges,
In every moment, the branch flourishes.
It has been told to her that he is a lover,
Lost in your love, enamored and entranced.
She turned away, dismissing me, saying,
“What the poet wishes to express is a passing thought.”
Never was I trusted in what has passed,
On our longing’s behalf; how can I trust?
Two fresh loves reside in my heart,
One hidden beneath, and one on display.
A homeland, O enchantment of your love,
For love knows no other refuge than you.
You heard of us from the accuser’s tongue,
When he brought you news of harm and shame.
If your abandonment makes you feel good,
There is no price for reunion among us.
I shed my bonds in love, just as the reins are released.
By my father, let it be known:
My heart is enslaved to the one who seeks my distress.
Love desires me to death, yet there is no animosity.
How many things were once customary,
As is the habit among tribes the traditions.
Someone said, “You are not truly in love, although”
When one loves, they have ceased to remember.
I said, “My soul secretly keeps the secret,”
It is indeed cherished in my heart.
The love has revealed my being and tortured it,
I have neither soul nor body left.
The heart loves, while the body remains unaware.
If it were to know, it would not remain in its weak state.
If lovers were to weigh their love,
My love would outweigh theirs, not shrinking back.
There is no shame in being a light-hearted flirt,
For before me, others were also light-hearted.
I Advise You to Embrace Sadness, Not Endure It
The speaker here is Al-Harith ibn Saeed ibn Hamdan, known as Abu Firas. He settled in the land of the Hamdanids in Aleppo, studying literature and horsemanship. Born in Mosul, he lost his father at the age of three due to political ambition, but Sayf al-Dawla took him under his wing. In this poem, he advises Abu Firas to mourn the passing of Khawla bint Abu al-Haija:
I advise you to embrace sadness, not endurance.
The extent of loss transcends the harshness of reproach.
I cannot tire you with consolation
For the greatest loss is, O the best missed presence.
It is a calamity if it hoards its possessions,
Among them are the eyelids that do not offer consolation to anyone.
My grief mirrors what troubles you,
And I have sought patience but found none.
My distance from you does not lessen my sorrow,
In both closeness and distance, there is comfort.
Should calamity strike, I shall share it with you,
Just as I shared in your blessings and joys.
I weep and my tears flow due to my heartache,
And I find respite in patience without support.
And I shall never allow myself a moment of joy, for
I comprehend what you experience from sorrow.
And I deny sleep’s arrival over my eyes,
Knowing that you are in a state of wakefulness.
You, alone and weeping, have no one to assist you.
May Allah grant you solace and endurance.
This captured one has no ransom,
He sacrifices himself for you, his kin and young.
The Cholera
Nazik Al-Mal’ika, born in Baghdad (August 23, 1923 – Cairo June 20, 2007), was an Iraqi poet renowned for introducing free verse poetry in 1947. Her poem titled “The Cholera” is considered one of the early examples of free verse in Arabic literature. Here is an excerpt:
The night lay still;
Listen to the resonance of wailing.
In the depths of darkness, beneath silence, amidst the dead;
Echoes rise high, tangling in despair.
An overwhelming sadness surges, boiling over,
As echoes of sorrows stumble in every heart.
In the quiet cabin, sadness creeps in,
Everywhere a spirit screams in the shadows.
Everywhere the voice weeps;
This is what death has torn apart.
Death, death, death;
O grief that cries from the Nile, due to the actions of death.
The dawn has broken;
Listen to the sound of the reverent footsteps,
In the silence of dawn, hear the lines of the mourners.
Ten corpses, twenty;
Do not count, but listen to the mourners.
Hear the voice of the unfortunate child:
Dead, dead, the count is lost;
Dead, dead, there will be no tomorrow.
Everywhere, a body is mourned by the sorrowful;
No moment of rest, no silence.
This is what the hand of death has wrought.
Death, death, death;
Humanity mourns, lamenting the actions of death.
The Cholera
In the cave of terror amongst the corpses;
In the harsh silence of eternity, where death is remedy;
The malady of cholera awakens,
Driven by vengeance, surging forth.
Descending into the joyous valley,
It cries out in madness.
It hears not the cries of the mourning.
Everywhere it leaves behind echoes,
In the farmer’s hut, in the household;
Nothing remains but the screams of death.
Death, death, death;
The embodiment of cholera avenges its kin.
The silence is bitter;
Nothing but the echo of prayers.
Even the gravedigger has taken respite, no solace remains.
The mosque lies silent, its muezzin gone.
Who will offer the eulogy for the dead?
Only lamentation and gasping breaths remain,
The child is without mother and father,
Weeping from a heart ablaze.
Tomorrow, without doubt, he shall be caught by the evil disease.
O phantom of plague, what have you left behind?
Nothing but the sorrows of death.
Death, death, death;
O Egypt, my feelings are torn apart by what death has done.
As for Separation, Its Time is Tomorrow
The poet is Qabus ibn al-Mundhir ibn Ma’a al-Sama’, Abu Ismail, known as Ibn Dhinair. He served Prince Asad ad-Din Ahmad ibn Abdullah al-Mahrani, composing this poem in a classical meter. He writes:
As for separation, its time is tomorrow;
So, why should one blame the blamer and dismiss him?
They have resolved on parting to the extent that
Distance has drawn near, and the time has come.
The tears from my eyes do not cease
And the fire in my heart for love does not extinguish.
You have bequeathed me, through separation, your pride,
A humbling legacy, and I have become accustomed to such humility.
O neighbors of knowledge, let patience prevail
From your connection, truly, I am honored and hold dear.
Whenever I remember you, I cannot refrain from lamenting;
My heart aches in your absence.
How I wish to embrace the beauty of Manbij,
Where the graceful gazelle whispers sweet words to me.
A place where the heart finds respite,
As longing swells in anticipation of meeting.
I find no joy in life away from that dwelling,
But rather a more pleasurable existence with it.
O you who are distant, yet longing brings you near,
In my heart, you belong, regardless of the distance.
You are the essence of my enduring affection,
Only for her, there is no rival in love.
Do not let the heavy burden of separation dull my heart’s desires,
For it is a trial from unwavering time.
May blessings abound upon the days where life breathes joy,
And struggle persistently passes, it cannot bother me.
The Tragedy of Life
The Iraqi poet Nazik Al-Mal’ika, born in Baghdad in 1354 AH (1923 AD), was raised in a home steeped in knowledge and literature. Her mother, Salma Abdul Razak, also known as Um Nizar, was a poet, while her father, Sadq Jafar Al-Mal’ika, blended poetry with a focus on grammar and language, true to the tradition of poets at the time. Among her notable verses are:
In vain do you dream, my poet,
Of dawn breaking against this existence;
In vain do you question; no secrets will unravel,
And you shall not rejoice in unbound freedom.
Within the shade of the willow, you’ve spent your hours,
A loss sown deeply in secrets.
You inquire of the shadows, yet the shadow,
Knows nothing.
Forever, you gaze into the unknown horizon,
Wondering if the unseen will reveal itself.
Oh, my girl, you will never understand the days,
Accept, instead, a life of ignorance.
Leave the weary boat to its own direction,
As the fates dictate.
What have you gained from wrestling with the waves?
Does misery sleep with your ambitions?
Alas! Oh you who have let your life waste in dreams,
What have you harvested except for weariness?
This secret remains buried—oh, what a waste,
A lifetime squandered in questioning.
This is the secret of life, tapping at understanding,
Until even the wise among us are perplexed.
My sorrow, oh girl, it is unfathomable,
So where is the hope?
It came before you entered this world,
Millions passed, only to vanish.
Tell me, what did they gather from their nights?
Where is the joy and the celebration?
All there is left are mourning graves,
Constructed along the banks of life.
They fled from the sanctuary of existence,
Retreating into the stillness of the dead.
How the gloomy night enveloped the atmosphere,
And how willingly the universe surrendered.
The night bore witness; it remains as it once was;
So where are those who were here yesterday?
How, O time, do you extinguish promise between your fingers,
As dreams recoil in the dark?
How do hearts wither in brightness,
While darkness itself persists?