I Am Burdened by This Love Alone
I bear this love alone,
Each person has their passionate yearnings, yet mine is unique.
She embodies beauty in her statue, while I am but the shadow of desire;
No lover has existed before me, nor shall there be one after.
In every valley of love, there is a warmth;
My feelings in Paris mirror those of Najd.
I haven’t forgotten the day I arrived there,
Wounded, as the breeze blew without promise.
There was you, along with your coyness, avoiding me,
Revealing what I conceal and hiding what I express.
I kept silent until a kiss escaped me,
On guard, even from jewelry and adornments.
We were like flowers, softly touching each other,
With no sound of the wild rose on the lips of the rose.
My mouth became a message to her,
It delivered the greetings, beseeching a reply.
If my beloved does not feel my longing,
Then tell me, why should my heart not be heavy with desire?
You Planted Love in My Ribcage
You planted love deep within my ribcage,
How could I not water it with my tears?
If you wished, oh beautiful one, you would not have spent
the night away from the ache of this heart.
I have not slept a night since you turned away,
From a harsh bed to another just as barren.
When insomnia calls me home,
Yet when I beckon sleep, it does not attend.
I ask my nights why they do not fade,
And why the morning star does not rise.
I think the birds that return,
Long for their beloved, and mourn alongside me.
Imagining a slender form comforts me,
Yet without spirit, it brings no relief.
I have not met anyone gazing upon their countenance,
Other than a youth enamored or feigning it.
O you who abandon me with your glances,
No remedy I have has proved effective.
How many pangs have constricted my chest,
And sorrows I’ve concealed within my ribcage.
There is a longing within my soul that never departs,
Even the innocent heart weeps until it perishes.
I leave them all to the lovers’ fate,
From one anguished heart to another.
It calls for the ruler to descend from his throne,
Before the majesty of love’s elevation.
And sends shivers on the battlefield,
Into the heart of the bravest of champions.
So send warmth from you to my heart,
And let it linger in that place.
Bring slumber back to my eyes,
For sleep has fled and not returned.
How many commands has love given, and how many has it forbidden,
While I remain awake with tearful eyes?
And whoever is led by love,
Will be driven to the brink of demise.
Love Is Slain, O Nights of Affection
Love is slain, O nights of affection,
Peace be upon the hearts and souls.
A heart that burns with desire, yet,
Thousands of hearts boil with resentments.
And chests, like fire covered
By the darkness of deceit, resemble ashes.
Life’s burdens conjure within the heart,
And who is truly secured without a heart?
We have not felt safe from time like the ascetic,
Like those who rightly fear the deceiver.
Each day calls out to people,
With a clamor akin to the clock’s ticking at the appointed hour.
Where is the one who feels secure from misfortunes,
When the harvests of calamities surround them?
Delay just long enough to taste the ripeness,
And the Lord of the orchard lies in wait.
A victim is one who was alive in the thicket,
Yet now is watched over by the eyes of the lions.
Awaken Me, O Dove of Sorrow
Awaken me, O dove of sorrow,
Did you find love as I have?
I’ve remained on the branch, lamenting melodiously,
And I’ve wept for those who have departed.
My eyes are still weary,
And my ribs still burn with desire.
We are both love-sick,
Awake, while sleep eludes either of us.
So give me reprieve, as there is no alternative to my heart,
As you melt away, O source of sorrow.
I have a heart that adores beauty, and can one
Be reproached for loving the spirit within the body?
One who captivates with denial,
A slender boy, adorning his neck.
The gazelles admire him, yet,
The lions have been tamed by the grandeur of his beauty.
Approach his abode and inquire of him,
Less than he promised shall he fulfill.
And if you see a trace of them,
The land has emptied after the beloved ones have gone.
Little Birds That Think Hearts Are Made of Love
Little birds think that hearts are made of love;
Who will send me a bird that has captured my heart
And took flight, as my eye feared to lose her?
She stripped it of its soft, pearly affections.
Oh, how I wish I were a bird nesting nearby,
So she would miss me when I was gone and find comfort in my presence.
Oh, had she settled beside me,
To sing on one side and frolic on the other.
Oh, little birds of the meadows, I have fallen for her;
Come, let me enlighten you about love and weeping.
Allow me to teach you the lamentation, that if you hear it,
You would mourn for the lovers moved by the fervor of love.
Take with your wings the love from my sides,
As my soul imbues yours, for you have taken my heart away.
I gazed at her once and my heart ached,
The second time, war was waged within my chest.
In an instant, a moment passes like a fleeting glance,
As the swords clash fiercely against one another.
And from a glance that recoils from another,
As two lances collide head-on.
Her eyes struck mine with a barrage of arrows,
That sent terror into the depths of my heart.
And her breath carried forth all sighs,
Leaving my chest sullied with every burden.
Every side of me is besieged by gazes,
Some enticing me while others strip me bare.
I said, we are deceived; love is indeed deceiving,
The graver my plight, the more I find joy in love’s entrapment.
She replied: if no soul escapes demise,
Then your only choice is to love, for it is my solace.
And if you find fault with me,
My greatest sin is that I love you.
O ye who have heard of love, know that love is simply,
Blood and that blood longs for another, seeking companionship.
When they unite, they surrender to the bonds of affection,
Otherwise, what charm is there in beauty that ensnares?
Question me, and I shall enlighten you; no one comprehends love,
But I, nor does anyone feel like me.
If hunters pursue their prey, know this;
I am the poet for this beauty, in both the East and the West.
If I communicate with hearts, they shall sway,
With the wafts of poetry, heart to heart.
With my descriptions of her beauty,
By God, no heart can exist void of love.
As for maidens, their allure is divine,
And my torment lies in the sweetness of her kiss.
No arrogance remains, only a fleeting thought,
Nor did she leave wonder unchallenged among the fair.
I humbly presented my longing between submission and acceptance,
And she stood amidst this delicate balance of reproach and affection.
I observed like statues encircling me,
I wondered if the stars wavered or merely reflected their image.
Yet still, they guided my gaze to the radiance of her face,
As sailors navigate by the North Star.
And she had departed, like flocks dispersing, and I faltered.
My eyes sought her flock, while my heart finds its own.
She declared, take heart, and I replied, O my beloved,
About sorrow: listen to the tale of Jacob and Joseph in the well.
Whenever I glance at the beloved, all I see are farewells,
And they return either in peace or in wrath.