Poems for School Broadcast about the Pursuit of Knowledge
- As stated by the poet Imam Al-Shafi’i:
My brother, you will not attain knowledge except through six principles.
I will inform you about each one of them in detail:
Intelligence, diligence, language proficiency,
Companionship with a teacher, and a long duration of time.
- He also says:
Be patient with the bitter harshness from a teacher,
For the drop in knowledge is due to his absence.
And whoever has not tasted the bitterness of learning for an hour,
Will not escape the disgrace of ignorance throughout their life.
And whoever misses education during their youth,
Let four funeral prayers be offered for his loss.
As for the young man, I swear by knowledge and piety,
If they do not coexist, there is no worth to his existence.
- Poet Ahmed Shawqi remarks:
Stand up for the teacher and offer him respect,
For the teacher is almost like a messenger.
Do you know of anyone more honorable or greater than he,
Who builds and nurtures souls and minds?
Glory be to You, O Lord, the best of teachers!
You taught with the pen in the earliest eras.
You brought this intellect out from its darkness,
And guided it towards the clear light.
You molded it with the teacher’s hand, sometimes
As dull iron, and sometimes as polished metal.
You sent Moses with the Torah as a guidance,
And the son of the virgin taught the Gospel.
You awakened the fountain of expression, Muhammad,
Giving to us the hadith and the divine revelation.
You taught Greece and Egypt so they transformed,
From every sun they sought overshadowing.
And today we have been reduced to childishness,
In knowledge we seek the light to rekindle.
From the east, the suns came together,
What of their west, which has become enshrouded?
O land, since the teacher lost his essence,
Among the suns and your east lies a veil.
The guardians of the truth of their knowledge have left,
Relishing therein their torment profoundly.
In a world where life has been shackled,
By individuality, subjugated, and confined.
It was struck down by the oppressive world as it fell,
By the rays of the sun, heads in bewilderment.
Socrates offered the cup while it was fateful,
My beloved lips crave for a kiss.
They offered him life while it was foolishness,
But he refused and preferred to die noble.
Indeed, courage lies greatly in hearts,
Yet genuine intellectual bravery is rare.
And perhaps the passion for truth has slain its champions,
Its love consumed them, how many lives were claimed?
Did each defender of the truth acquire,
Hatred and burdens with the dark fate?
If I were to believe in the cross and its message,
I would establish proof from the cross of Christ.
O my teacher, the valley and its guardians,
And the molders of its aspiring youth,
Those who, when called to teach, carry
The weight of the trust, which is profoundly responsible.
And became the steps of knowledge after Muhammad,
And walked cautiously after Isma’il.
Our steps towards him were light,
And through Denloub, we became a herd.
Until we saw Egypt take her step,
If knowledge proceeds, kingdoms will incline.
Those infidels flourished while illiterate,
Since the era of Khufu, they saw no light.
You find those who built the obelisk are their relatives,
They have no skill to even shape a needle.
And it is evident when they are called to lead,
The youth feel amused seeing them so dulled.
Men recite their desires to one another,
The successful ones among them find pleasure in rhythm.
Ignorance is not to thrive on,
How can life be held in the hands of a bearer?
If it were not for tongues and creative minds,
They would have wandered in vain towards wisdom.
And they tended to their souls, forty in number,
Attacking hopelessness and planting hope.
They recognized their barren places and reaped,
Like a spring overflowing and clouds pouring.
To bestow goodness upon the land and shy away,
From receiving praise in a beautiful way.
There was no Denloub, nor his education,
During trials, they wouldn’t burden the slightest.
Raise the spirits of fairness amongst the youths,
You will find them to be the bastion of rights.
For he is the one who builds sound conduct,
And the one who nurtures just souls.
He establishes the principles for every crooked logic,
And shows the right opinion in all matters.
And if the teacher is not just,
The spirit of justice in the youth will be dimmed.
And if the teacher’s insight fails him,
All insights will falter through his guidance.
Beautiful Poems for School Broadcast about Jerusalem
- As expressed by poet Ahmed Matar:
O Jerusalem, my lady,
Forgive me, for I possess no hands
Nor do I carry weapons
And I lack a battlefield.
All I own is a tongue,
And uttering words carries a heavy price,
And death comes free of charge.
My lady has put me in a difficult position,
For a lifetime’s worth has a cost for one word,
And I have no buildings.
I utter just half a word,
Cursed be the whispers of the Devil.
A commission came to you,
To whiten two committees,
To hatch after two rounds for eight,
And with prosperity and children, committees multiply.
And patience is crushed beneath his urges,
And he wears the shirt of عثمان.
My lady,
Long live the committees!
Long live the committees!
- Poet Nizar Qabbani expresses:
I wept… until the tears ran dry.
I prayed… until the candles melted away.
I prostrated… until I grew weary of bowing.
I asked about Muhammad and you, and about Jesus.
O Jerusalem, city fragrant with prophets,
The shortest path between the earth and the sky.
O Jerusalem, beacon of the divine laws,
A beautiful child with burnt fingers.
Your eyes are sad, O city of the virgin,
O shaded oasis the Prophet once passed by.
The stones of your streets are heavy-hearted,
The minarets of mosques wear a gloomy veil.
O Jerusalem, a beauty swathed in black,
Who tolls the bells in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher?
On the morning of Sundays…
Who brings joy to the children?
On the night of Christmas…
O Jerusalem, city of sorrows,
A great tear rolling in the eyelids.
Who stops the aggression?
Against you, O pearl of the religions?
Who washes the blood from your stones?
Who saves the Gospel?
Who saves the Quran?
Who redeems Jesus from those who killed him?
Who saves humanity?
O Jerusalem… my city,
O Jerusalem… my beloved,
Tomorrow… tomorrow… the lemon will bloom,
And the green ears of wheat and olive trees will rejoice,
And eyes will shine…
And the migrating doves will return,
To the sacred rooftops
And children will return to play,
And fathers and sons will reunite
On your flourishing land.
O my country…
O land of peace and olive trees.
Poems for School Broadcast about the Beauty of Nature
- Poet Qassem Haddad expresses:
You stand in your transitory wanderings,
And the tree guides you to its warm shade.
You immerse your weary feet
In flourishing green,
Leaves tide around your ankles,
And branches and little stars.
A tree that holds onto your most fearful parts,
And leads you towards its blessings.
What were you waiting for,
In the hospitality of the nurturing tree?
How can your strange feet believe a tree
That takes your hands with its many arms
And grants your feet feathers
Allowing greenery to present itself like the sea?
A gracious tree, gentle and caring,
Often in tears,
Taking pity on your sorrow,
And unlike the forest.
- Poet Nazek Al-Malaika reflects:
Dream of birds in the shades of trees,
Between flying and singing.
Love the snow on the slopes of the earth
And the roses on the hilltops.
Compose for the lark as it sings
In the darkest hours of the nights.
Rest in the shade of the willow tree and listen
To the bubbling of the water,
And draw your inspiration from the sweet sounds
Of the light rain,
And sing alongside the shepherds as they pass
With their beautiful flock.
And love the palms, the wheat, and the flowers,
And be enthralled in the allure of the fields.
The willows offer a more beautiful shade
Than the shadows of palaces and balconies,
And the shepherd’s song is a purer tune
Than the noise of trumpets and wheels.
The scent of the bitter orange is sweeter and fresher
Than the accumulated dust of the city.
The clarity of the fields remains more profound
Than death, harm, and sins.
The love of the butterfly for the flower is nobler
Than the passion of a human lover.
The breeze of the villages is truer
To the vows of love than those of humankind.
And the life of the imaginary shepherd is more blissful
Than the life of the rich within the palaces
On the slopes of the hills, where the sweet flock grazes
By the banks of the stream,
Where the sheep bleat in a gentle way
And play across the vast spaces.
And the singing shepherd rests beneath the shade,
Succumbing to the hands of dreams,
With the flute in hand, he serenades
And sings on the winding trails of his flock,
Drawing inspiration from the murmurs of the stream,
The melodies of youth and dreams.
Ah, how I long to live in those distant mountains,
Herding sheep each morning,
Singing the willows and cypress songs,
Listening to the whistling of the winds,
I adore generosity and the vines and the blossoms,
Living my life in a divine way
Every day traversing to the riverbank
And gazing upon the clarity of the waters.
My dear friends, the snows, the flowers, and the sheep,
With the lyre being my companion and confidant,
And in the mountains lies a poetry collection
Written by a genius poet.
I sing at times and the waters of the valley and its heights
Pay attention to my refrain.
And at times I converse with the book, and nearby
A dove, poetically gifted, whispers its melodies.
And the babbling spring runs towards the shores of the valley.
Poems for School Broadcast about the Father
- Poet Mahmoud Darwish states:
He averted his gaze from the moon,
And bent to embrace the soil,
Then prayed…
To a sky without rain.
And he prohibited travel!
The lightning ignited the valleys,
Where my father used to be,
Gardening the stones
From long ago… Creating trees.
His skin gathers the dew,
His hands awaken the trees.
And the horizon weeps a tune:
He was an Odyssean knight…
In the house, he gave bread,
And wine and blankets,
And horses and shoes.
And my father said once,
When he prayed on a stone:
Avert your gaze from the moon
And beware of the sea… and travel!
On the day when God whipped his servant,
I spoke: O people! Shall we disbelieve?
So my father narrated to me… bowing his arm:
In a dialogue with pain,
Job was grateful
To the Creator who inflicted the wound upon me,
Not for the dead… nor the idol.
So leave the wound and the pain
And help me with the regret!
A star passed across the horizon,
Descending… descending,
And my shirt was
Between fire and wind.
And my eyes think
Of drawings on the earth.
And once my father said:
He who has no homeland,
Has no grave in the soil.
…And he advised me against travel.