The Poem “The Fire of My Soul has Died with the Flame of My Forehead”
The esteemed Imam Al-Shafi’i states:
The fire of my soul has died with the flame of my forehead,
And my night has darkened as its shooting star shone.
O owl that has nested upon my head,
Despite my resistance when the crow has flown.
I have seen the ruins of my life, and thus, you visited me,
And your abode amidst all lands is desolate as well.
Can I enjoy life after my old age has befallen me,
With the first signs of gray that neither dye can conceal?
The honor of a man exists before his gray hairs,
Yet how swiftly the youth of a soul does fade away!
When a man’s complexion wanes and his hair turns white,
His days become withdrawal from their former pleasantness.
So set aside the lowly aspects of life, for they are,
Forbidden upon the soul of those who are pious.
Pay your dues of respect, for understand that they are,
Like the alms of wealth, subject to their due proportions.
And treat the noblest with kindness, for they will own their own,
For the greatest trade of the honorable is in acquisition.
Do not walk within the earth with arrogance,
For soon enough, the dust will embrace you fully.
And whoever tastes the world, I have sampled it too,
And we have faced both its joys and its torment.
Yet I have seen nothing but delusion and emptiness,
Like mirages appearing in the vast expanse.
It is but a dead carcass, repulsive, upon which dogs
Are interested only in tearing it asunder.
If you keep away, you will be safe from its inhabitants,
And if you approach, their dogs will wrestle you back.
So blessed is the soul that has settled in the depths of her home,
With closed doors and veils drawn ever tight.
The Poem “Let the Days Do What They Will”
Among the wise verses by Imam Al-Shafi’i is the poem “Let the Days Do What They Will,” where he states:
Let the days do as they wish,
And calm your soul when fate has decreed.
And do not despair at life’s misfortunes,
For the events of this world do not last.
Be a man of fortitude amidst the challenges,
And let your traits be generosity and loyalty.
And if your faults increase among the people,
Shield them with generosity, for every defect
Can be covered, as it is said: generosity conceals.
Do not show weakness to your enemies,
For their gloating is a curse.
And do not expect kindness from a miser,
For there is nothing for a thirsty soul in fire.
Your provision is not diminished by patience,
Nor is effort the key to increase in abundance.
Neither sorrow lasts nor joy is eternal,
Nor hardship nor ease will define your state.
And if death befalls you still,
Neither land nor sky can shield you.
God’s earth is vast, yet if destiny strikes,
Even the bounds of heaven feel constrained.
Let the days betray us evermore,
For no remedy can fend off death.
The Poem “I Love You till the Skies Rise”
The poet Nizar Qabbani expresses:
To regain my health and the health of my words,
To emerge from the haze that surrounds my heart;
For without you, the earth is a great deception,
A spoiled apple of no worth.
I wish to enter the religion of jasmine,
To defend the heritage of poetry,
The blue of the sea, and the greenery of the woods.
I want to love you until I am assured
That you are still well, that you are still well,
And the fish of poetry swimming in my blood,
Are still doing well.
I long to love you until I rid myself of aridity,
Of saltiness, of the rigidity of my fingers,
And of my colorful butterflies and my ability to weep.
I yearn to love you until I restore the details
Of our home in Damascus, tile by tile,
Pigeon by pigeon, and converse with fifty petals of jasmine,
As the goldsmith displays his craft.
I want to love you, oh lady,
In a time where love has become a paralyzed act,
And language is a crutch, and the books of poetry are limited;
For neither trees stand tall nor birds can use their wings,
And the stars struggle to traverse.
I wish to love you, from the fawns of liberty,
And the last letter from the lovers,
Before the last poem written in Arabic is hanged.
I desire to love you before a fascist decree is issued,
And to share a cup of coffee with you,
And to sit for two minutes before the secret police,
Pull the chairs from beneath us.
And I want to embrace you before they grab
My mouth and arms, and to weep in your hands,
Before they impose a customs fee on my tears.
I want to love you without fail, my lady,
To change the calendars,
To rename the months and days,
And to sync the clocks of the world to your footsteps,
And the fragrance of your perfume, as it enters the café before you.
I love you, oh lady, in defense of a horse’s right
To whinny as it pleases,
And in defense of a woman’s right to choose her knight,
As she desires.
I want to love you till I restore to Beirut
Its severed head,
And to its sea, its blue coat,
And to its poets, their burnt notebooks;
I wish to restore Tchaikovsky and his white tracks,
And Paul Éluard, his keys to Paris,
And Van Gogh, the sunflower,
And Aragon, the “Eyes of Elsa,”
And Qays ibn al-Mulawwah, the combs of Layla al-Amiriyah.
I want you to be my beloved until poetry defeats
The silencer,
And students triumph,
And the rose prevails,
And libraries conquer the arms factories.
I wish to love you until I restore
The things that resemble you,
And the trees that used to follow me,
And the local cats that used to scratch me,
And the writings that used to write me.
I want to open all the drawers
My mother used to hide,
Her wedding ring and her prayer beads,
Which she kept since the day I was born.
Everything, my lady, has fallen into a coma;
For the satellites have triumphed over the moon of poets,
And the electronic calculators have surpassed the Song of Songs,
And Pablo Neruda.
I want to love you, oh lady,
Before my heart turns into a spare part sold in pharmacies,
For heart doctors in Cleveland manufacture hearts en masse,
Just like shoes.
The Poem “A Lover’s Suffering from Your Distance”
Lang din ben al-Khatib writes:
A lover suffers from your absence,
My tears have soaked me since you left with sorrow and despair.
A breath from you set forth, and now it has become,
An essence melting from his eyes—a stream of tears.
O beloved, you have even cut off the shadow,
I have excused you, yet my eyes cannot sleep.
By the life of closeness, I have not forgotten your vow,
Even if my soul mourns you in absence.
Ask the stars; they bear witness to my sleeplessness,
If in the night’s darkness I find repose.
I traverse the histories to distract myself,
Hoping news can unite our journeys.
I spend my daytime in conversation and dreams,
And at night, my only companion suffers alongside me.
Beyond my tears for you and my grumbling
To the one who can see into my heart and hears.
He reminds me of our past, yet I drown in my sorrow,
Drinking deeply as my grief swells with memory.
Ah! My tears resemble rubies from their spilling,
For they pour forth from my eyes.
There is hope for reunion, my reproachers say,
Yet how can they grasp what they do not know?
Yes, if I were to live, let the reunion be joyous,
But who among us dares to yearn for life?
Will I meet the Zaynakhatoon again,
After distance has pushed us far apart?
Shall I come across that child again,
So near to when I left her as she still suckled close?
What a painful thing to have aged since then,
For her, the vicissitudes of separation will haunt.
By God, I have not abandoned them out of boredom,
Did the thirsty tire of a wellspring’s dispute?
But the constraints of living forced my separation,
While I toil to expand their space.
If God wishes, by His grace, I will return,
For those like me shall return with joy.
So take pity on my heart, my reproacher,
For it weeps and grieves for those I have parted from.
Old age, worries, defeat, and estrangement,
And more than this, the silent stones seem to crack.
I have endured the bitterness of hardship hoping,
That patience would serve as my remedy.
Stricken with an adversary who remains my ruler,
I am humbled beneath him, beneath my former dignity.
The best I can offer is silence, for I know not
Who to complain to or whom to implore.
I shall offer my burdens to him and bend beneath them,
While the days do not yield their subservience.
As for the mention of that person, the faith ignites,
Others smile at his countenance and radiate.
How I wish that goodness would content with my complaints,
For how can I mourn when my community stands blessed?
And if I am seen hastily rushing to you with grievances,
They claim, “We saw you,” with swift tongues.
Shouldn’t you have kept to your promise towards me?
For there is a place for loyalty in my heart.
For if you truly favored me, you would not have strayed,
With the ears of a friend who has forgotten your trust.
Oh, if I had met you without your jests,
Would you even care to hear my complaints?
The slanderer continues; my case has been raised to your attention,
And I hope that fate will provide me a summons.
From there arises a court for adjudication,
To give rise to praise surpassing musk in fragrance.
He is a chief; if the delegation is delayed, he extends his bounty,
And his generous hand always exceeds what the river can offer.
He possesses humility and rises above the abject,
For he is unparalleled in valor, and both dread and honor follow.
So hear the lament of a solitary being,
A stranger in this sea of your kindness.
The world has narrowed its embrace upon me despite its vastness,
But your pardon offers a broader scope for relief.
My affection for you remains unshaken by harshness,
And can rough storms shake mountains from their roots?
If you do not deal kindly with me as your servant,
Then who truly will regard kindness thereafter?
Even if something had reached you about me in haste,
Know that the messenger carries deceit and duplicitous intent.
This soul saw you hastily moving with flowing eyes,
Claiming what they wished, adding fuel to the fire.
If you were to shepherd the bond of affection,
You would not be swayed by the external forces.
How could a rational being distance themselves from your family,
While the family of God connects without effort?
Your honor shields you more than a shield does from foes,
For your right hand’s offering is much more benevolent.
I shall praise you throughout life as you deserve,
For my ocean of flattery overflows for you.
And tell me, if my praises fail to captivate,
Have you not understood that acting generously should be genuine?
And he who sows goodness in a noble land,
Will reap in abundance what he has planted.
And poetry, like every work, has its measure,
In no measure does the means equate to the temperament.
However, the generous ones should take heed,
And glorify the prosperous one, genuine in emotion.
Not every poet shall excel in truth,
For not all skilled ones are perhaps original poets.
Thus here is a piece birthed from my admiration for you,
Exceeding all previously recited verses.
And live in happiness, dignity, and abundance,
As you ascend upon the peaks of virtues and truly elevate.
Even as no exaltation repays a debased person,
For you alone can raise those whom you wish to support.