Poem: The Longing of Youth
By King Al-Aamjad:
That distance returns as closeness, folding into the space
where the echoes of its misfortunes caress my heart.
And among the branches, there’s a lament from the son of the grove,
swaying with the sweetness of its melodic notes.
It weeps as the dawn breaks brightly,
calling to those asleep in the night, “Awake!”
I have not seen anyone in love like me, nor such a friend,
whose loyalty surpasses what love renders.
It’s a love that seems lighter when I speak of it, yet
its tides are clear, revealing a difficult path ahead.
Lightning flashes as the night unfolds its secrets,
appearing from afar like a freshly cut branch.
I stayed awake for his sake until the evening leaned
toward the west from the farthest point of the stars’ shine.
I compose poetry like a melodious tune,
that wanders but knows neither confusion nor pride.
All other poetry of beings is mere husk,
but this poetry stands as the essence of each soul.
Let it be sung by the wanderer, and love will become delightful,
while the caravan seeks distant lands.
Poem: The Dream of Abla
By Antara ibn Shaddad:
The vision of Abla visited me in my dreams,
a captive lost in her embrace, unfastened from worldly ties.
I rose to complain of the pain her absence brings,
and she exhaled musk, mingling with fine amber.
I held her close to kiss her lips,
as tears from my eyes moistened the earth.
Unveiling her face, her beauty shone brightly,
turning night into a radiant morning,
she is an Arab maiden, her body swaying in grace,
and lovers see her as a lithe spear.
Veiled by beauty and concealed,
a dark-eyed gazelle guards her pretense.
Oh Abla, your love has crossed all bounds,
and I find meaning in you absent from others.
Your love courses deeply through my bones,
even as my spirit flows within this body.
I have become attached to the tail of someone most esteemed,
a lion with a sword that has defeated all.
O who can save me from this consuming love,
as I only find it igniting more fervently.
Were it not for the dominion of love’s reign,
a question lingers: could Antara contain its strife?
Poem: Every Poem is Every Love
By Anis Al-Haj:
Every poem is the beginning of poetry; every love is the dawn of the heavens.
Rooted in me, I am the storm—
make me dust. I will intoxicate you as the wind caresses the trees,
and you will absorb me as a tree absorbs the soil.
And you, my small one,
all you desire will be offered to you for eternity.
Tethered to you by the pain of separation,
I will forcibly extract you from yourself,
and you will pull me away,
as we grasp at the intoxication of the essence,
renewing until we dissolve,
we vanish in the bliss of losing,
and plunge into pure oblivion, free from all taint.
You are not what I capture,
but the spirit of ecstasy. As I began to fathom my limits,
wings of correction carried me into oblivion.
To the one who claims surplus, hunger remains,
and for the one who declares boredom, the sting of yearning,
and for he who cries “No! No!”, afflictive visions appear
in the desert of perpetual certainty.
An emergence, suddenly like a prank,
or a deceiving glimmer in certainty’s desert,
your presence bows the head with the weight of ignored intuition,
and I say to it, “Yes! Yes!”
Even from the upper balcony,
as I throw myself into the depths of love,
I burn through a stretch of your life, whatever you are!…
Your roots rise in the return,
growing back towards the primal tree,
O first mother,
O last beloved,
O burning heart,
O golden surface and sun of windows,
O illuminating flashes of lightning that brighten my face.
O gazelle and my forest,
O forest of shadows that change me,
O gazelle that glances amidst the thicket to say: “Come closer,”
and I approach,
crossing through the tangled woods like a gaze,
and the desert transforms into gushing waters,
and you become my entire existence,
I flee you, yet you sprout in my heart,
and you flee me,
only to be returned to me by your mirror hidden beneath the threshold of my memory.
Your hands are branches of war,
your hands are the sweet revenge upon me,
and your eyes are those of a child, guilty of their own childlike rebellion,
and silence you impose, so we are unheard,
and fear fills your eyes,
a quivering child born just now.
Words pull back from your body
like a rosy veil,
your nakedness appears in the room,
an appearance reminiscent of the singular word
profound like an endless mirage clasped in the palm.
Who protects me from the light of day?
Who protects me from the fading of night?
Not any longing, but the longing to cross,
not any hope, but the hope of escape into the bliss of fading.
Let the specter of error keep its distance
and not intrude early,
to snatch and extinguish
and kill what cannot die.
For love is my salvation, O moon,
love is my agony,
love is my death, O moon.
I do not emerge from darkness except to seek shelter in your nakedness,
nor from the light except to drown in your abyss.
Your eyes win in the game of day, and they win in the game of night.
They win beneath every fortress and against every tide.
They win like faith when it gains and when it suffers loss.
And I take with me, behind the ember, the eternal reflection of your beauty,
occupying every space,
and you wonder how everyone grows older except you.
The gold of your eyes courses through my veins.
No one recognizes me except the blind,
for they see love. What I possess in you is not your body,
but the spirit of the original will,
not your body,
but the seed of the first body,
not your spirit,
but the spirit of truth before the world’s haze enveloped it.
The sun rises in your flesh,
but you are cold,
for the sun burns,
and all that burns is cold from sheer force.
Every poem is the heart of love: every love is the heart of death, pulsing with the extreme of life.
Every poem is the last poem,
every love is the last cry,
every love, O goddess of descent into depths, is death until the very last,
and what I grasp in you is not your body,
but the heart of God,
I squeeze and squeeze it,
to dull the cries of its fleeting ecstasy,
the pains of my everlasting sacrifice.
Poem: Love is a Covenant, Longing is Eternal
By Khalfan bin Musbah:
He met only the resolve of a fierce commitment,
and steadfast patience, neither wavering nor softening.
Patience knows that I am the best companion,
firm and determined, with loyalty that weighs its worth.
Time surely knows, if its trials increase,
the loyalty of true friends enriches us in abundance.
The beloveds remain with me even if time betrays,
I soothe my wounds when healing seems hard to find.
The symbol of fidelity and the tribe of truth live
in trust, even if the times betray us.
They hope for me what effort they can, but if they could,
they would alter the fates written for us.
If the despair of their poetry troubles my heart, it is no wonder,
for the truth of camaraderie is the best solace we can have.
My heart is alive with hopes they instilled, teaching me
the essence of loyalty and the sincerity of our bonds.
Poem: A Longing for Time
By Abu Al-Huda Al-Sayadi:
Time has stretched, O fortunate one,
and we are disturbed by separation and longing.
The soft glances have brought no affection,
and the lover’s pain weighs heavily on his heart.
Many a critic has spoken ill of us,
casting doubt with words best left unspoken.
Is it not striking how our beauty causes mountains to tremble,
with love that binds us like a solemn oath?
In love, we commit to a bond that cannot be broken,
for loyalty has its loyal defenders.
As love’s breeze brushes by us at night,
it ignites passion within our hearts.
We drift together, while desire shakes our vessel,
with beauty carrying the promise of joy.
Beauty itself trembles at love’s touch,
a marvel as radiant as the moors and the journey.
O fortunate one, your home is a shrine of yearning,
where the gazelle had set its sight.
The tip of an arrow from those eyes learned what affection is,
entwined in the heartstring’s embrace.
And I have been caught off guard by your enchantment,
as beauty has struck me hard before.
And on a night of grace, the kind that passes swiftly,
the bonds of our connection linger.
An image of my beloved dances around me,
as it enraptures my very soul and pulls my heart.
Thus I weep, as tears cascade like a torrential stream,
flowing down like the hills after a heavy rain.
I complain, but my pain reaches no one else,
and my ailment in love is an unrelenting disease.
So, O fortunate one, shall time unite us once again,
and bring forth a resolution after all this separation?
May the Almighty grant me ease and reveal
a way from the hidden depths of fate.
Poem: The Legend of Loyalty
Fadwa Touqan reflects on loyalty in love:
She asks: Where is loyalty? Is there no loyalty?!
I laugh in your face, the one who has grown distant,
inquiring where the faithful are, where is your former yearning?
What of the hundreds of women you adored,
each thinking you possessed their every desire,
believing that your passion had frozen in time,
deeper than mountain roots.
And they refuse to believe that loyalty
remains a myth, a mere illusion,
a name attached to no essence,
and a notion strangely absent.
We yearn for others to be loyal,
but we bind them instead, shackling them to hope,
with fleeting ties like deceptive echoes,
as we walk forth to drink from new vessels,
to savor new flavors,
to experience an altogether new romance,
attempting to uncover a fresh visage,
while we still ask: Where is loyalty?
We desire from others to linger on the emotions,
which have faded and disappeared,
to dwell in our depths until they have shifted
into a false image,
becoming self-serving, my friend, nestled within.
Our desires crawl in secrecy,
guarded by heavy veils we call loyalty!
Without a doubt, my friend, it could exist,
for some shadows linger,
while the remnants of love have faded.
Those memories are veiled, and we do not know how they glimmer,
some light trickling while embracing the past,
and eventually we lay to rest the remains,
entombed in soft silence,
yet not a tear falls from weary eyes,
nor do we harbor hurts within.
We move forward to the powerful call,
heading in every direction,
forgetting the old,
and embracing the new,
yet we always return to ask: Where is loyalty?!
Is there no loyalty?!