Poem: “Muna, Be Mine as White is Henna”
The poet Al-Mutanabbi says:
Muna, be mine as white is henna,
Thus, the youth remains hidden beneath the whitening of the years.
Night spent in company with the fair is a temptation
And a source of pride, a pride that I cherish dearly.
How can I today denounce what I once desired
And call out for what I lament when I am answered?
The hue has faded as the dawn clarifies every path,
Just as the fog disperses under the light of the day.
Within this body lies a soul untouched by aging,
Even if the face is marked by time’s spears.
It has nails that, should they falter, are always ready,
And a bite if there are no teeth left to show.
The passage of time changes many things in me,
Yet I reach the end of my life with her as my companion.
And I am a star, guiding my companions through the darkness,
When clouds stand between us and the stars above.
I stand independent of homelands; they do not belittle me,
As I have traveled far from my origins.
And if the camels of Dhameelan grant me passage,
Otherwise, within their folds lies a punishment.
And I make no plea for water; instead, I find solace
In the sun above the silver waters.
And my secrets find a place that no companion can reach,
No wine can spill forth to reveal them.
With the beloved, there are fleeting moments then separation,
An expanse that leads to another meeting.
And what is love but a glance and a craving
That exposes the heart to its own injury?
While my heart defends itself against the temptations of women,
And I keep my strength against alcohol’s charms.
We have relinquished every craving for the edges of the blades,
For we have no desire but for those they bring forth in battle.
We strike above the intensities,
And in the clash, the cries of valor have diminished.
The most cherished place in the world is a galloping steed,
And the greatest companion in life is a book.
And the sea of my father, vast and deep,
Surpasses any measure of praise or profit.
Its worth transcends even the finest words,
Making it a reflection of the best that can be decreed.
His adversaries sought to outshine him,
Just as the refined swords outshine the necks they pierce.
When addressing the noble, the harshest attacks
Are made against those who shield only iron.
And the most formidable of judgments comes down,
When the monarchs of the earth render their sentence.
He leads toward obedience, and the people follow him,
Even if it requires deceit and punishment.
O lion in body, with the spirit of a tiger,
How many lions have proved to be mere dogs?
And you, who demand your rightful share from time,
Like you, it is rightfully earned and revered.
Here, in this time, we have a claim that must be honored,
And grievances may diminish, yet will long remain.
Days might yet instill in you a certain quality,
While times may flourish where once they waned.
And there’s no rule but yourself, for sovereignty is merit,
As if you were a sword, while the scabbard remains.
I see in my closeness to you an eye of tranquility,
And though close, it feels as if distant.
Will it benefit me to lift the veils between us
When between my hopes and you lies a barrier?
I send forth my greetings, as I love what has made you absent,
And I remain silent as if there were no response.
There are needs within my soul, and in you lies wisdom,
My silence articulates much when words fail me.
I am not greedy for love, nor am I covertly seeking gain,
But a heart impressionable might still get hurt.
And I had no wish but to expose my critics
To the truth that my feelings for you are sincere.
And I let it be known to those who opposed me, but they faltered,
And let it be clear, they were defeated while I was victorious.
In all matters, except for you, you are indeed unique,
You are a lion while the kings resemble wolves.
And if you were to be weighed, then even the reader would prove right,
Those deemed wolves were misread as the locusts.
And yes, the praise of people is a mix of truth and vanity,
Yet your accolades are authentic; there’s no deception here.
Poem: “Ask O Abla of the Two Mountains About Us”
The poet Antarah ibn Shaddad remarks:
Ask, O Abla, of the two mountains, regarding us,
And of what the people of Al-A’jam have encountered from us.
We annihilated their numbers when they approached,
Their processions in tumult, of men and jinn alike.
They sought to consume us unprovoked,
Yet we filled their bellies with blows and stabs.
We struck them with sharp blades,
That split their bodies, both back and belly.
We have separated the processions from the women,
Who exceed the land’s women in beauty.
So many lords fell to my sword,
Their blood now stains their hands and without henna.
And how many heroes have I left behind, with their wives weeping,
Each echoing their lament for the loss to my wrath?
And a stone, witnessing my thrusts, called out,
“Take care, O son of Shaddad, take care!””
I was forged from the mountains; my heart is made sturdy,
Though the mountains themselves may perish, I remain steadfast.
I am the stronghold of the Banu Abs,
In times of conflict, they look to me for refuge.
In hue, I resemble night, yet my actions shine brighter than
The light of dawn.
My steed is my pride, connecting me to both my father and mother,
My sword and spear bind us in valor.
Poem: “By the Measure of the Resolute, Come the Resolutions”
The poet Al-Mutanabbi declares:
By the measure of the resolute come the resolutions,
And by the measure of the dignified come their honors.
The small magnify the simple in their sight,
While the mighty diminish the grand in theirs.
A sword, tasked by the state, burdens the army beyond its resources,
Yet the military force cannot faute in its actions.
It seeks from men what it cannot procure within itself,
And thus, the lions of the field make no claim.
The sharpest of birds sacrifices its lifespan for its weapon,
The eagles embrace life and sacrifice.
What damage has it done without claws or fangs,
When his swords and holds have been fashioned?
Does the red blade recognize its own hue,
And knows which of the two is a cleaner wound?
It is watered by clouds while still unquenched,
While when it approaches, it rains down upon itself.
He built a reality that rose in its standing,
As a spearman struck in battle, while death waves surround.
That army echoed the madness of its times,
And amidst the fallen, destiny holds chains of the fated.
Spurned by time, it grows further,
For on justice does the fate of days tread.
Refuting anything that takes away what’s been stolen,
And the endless corollary damages our resolve.
Poem: “After You, I Divorce the Praise of All”
- The poet Abu Bakr Al-Khwarizmi states:
After you, I cease to praise anyone,
If I return, I am a fortified sinner.
How can I praise them when praise is their unmasking?
Indeed, whoever wrongs another is the true offender.
A people you see as angry when you recite their praises,
Yet they yearn for unsought flattery.
Uthman knows that praises have their price,
Yet they crave shout-outs for no cost.
I am tormented by their disdain for others,
For truly, verses are dedicated to Uthman.
Not every beautiful woman is Hind, as they claim,
And sometimes Nas’ are called to task by each other.
And every rumor about you will find its truth,
In kindness and worth, it weaves its net.
Those who heard once made note to honor Ghassan,
As fabrics from Isfahan used to arrive,
Until today, gifts from Khurasan are sent forth.
When it was said that Ismail was praiseworthy,
The people’s fortune was abundantly laid and none could deny him.
People are too clever to praise a man,
Until they see the traces of his virtue.