O Love for Lubna, You Have Tortured Me
Qais bin Dhurayh expresses:
You have indeed tormented me, O Love for Lubna,
So bring either death or life forth;
For death would be more soothing than a life
Spent in separation and estrangement.
And those closest to me have advised me to distance myself from her,
So I replied that my end has now come.
The Most Beautiful Love
Mohammed Darwish reflects:
Just as grass sprouts between fragments of rock,
We found ourselves strangers one day,
While the spring sky gathered stars… and stars,
And I composed a verse of love…
For your eyes… I sang it!
Do your eyes know that I have waited long,
Just like the summer bird waits?
I slept… like the sleep of the migrant,
One eye sleeps, while the other awakens… for long,
And weeps for its sister.
We are two lovers until the moon sleeps,
Knowing that embraces and kisses
Are the sustenance of lovelorn nights,
And that morning calls my steps to continue,
On a new day’s path!
We are friends, so together we shall see a hand in hand,
Together, we create bread and songs.
Why question where this road leads us?
And where did it gather our footsteps?
Enough for you and I to walk together… forever.
Why do we search for songs of sorrow
In an old poetry collection?
And we ask: O Love, will it last?
I love you like the caravans love an oasis of grass and water,
And like the poor love their bread!
As grass sprouts between fragments of rock,
We found ourselves strangers one day,
And we shall always remain tender.
Selections from the Poetry of Jamīl Buthayna
Jamīl bin Mu’mar articulates:
I see every beloved except for me and her,
Reveling in the world and enjoying life.
And I walk, and she walks through the land as if we are
Captives held by enemies.
I pray and weep in my prayer in remembrance of her,
Pity me for what the two scribes write.
I promised her not to be enamored with anyone else,
While she trusted me without assurance.
O servants of God, rise to hear
The dispute between two lovers who argue.
Each year they renew once again
A grievance, a separation, then reconcile.
They live in the world as strangers wherever
They reside, and in the years they meet.
Remembering the Heart’s Connection to Buthayna
Jamīl bin Mu’mar states:
Remembering Anas, the one who loved Buthayna, with a heart filled with longing,
And Buthayna’s memory lingers for the sorrowful heart.
And my camel yearns, so I listened to its whimpers,
On the edge of sandy fields, as it cautiously walks.
Did I deceive my eyes, or did I see in the grove
For Buthayna, a fire ignited? Raise your lamps, O caravan!
To the light of a fire that does not flicker, for it appears as if,
From a distance and the night, it has an opening within.
Awake, O sleepers! By God, tell me this:
Does love kill a man?
Oh, how many a caravan did I stop,
And without you, it would not have halted,
For she is the first glance upon them, and a touch,
When the gazes fade, she had the aftermath.
Enthrall Me with Your Exaggerated Love
Ibn al-Farid exclaims:
Increase my bewilderment with your intense love,
And have mercy on my heart that burns with your passion.
If I ask to see you in reality,
Then grant it, do not let your reply be: “You will not see.”
O heart! You promised me patience in their love,
So be careful not to tighten or become annoyed.
For passion is life; thus, die with it; it is
Justly yours to die and be pardoned.
Tell those who preceded me, and who follows after,
And who sees my afflictions:
Take from me and follow my path, and listen to my yearnings.
Indeed, I secluded myself with my beloved, and between us,
Is a secret more delicate than a breeze, when it travels.
And my eye was permitted one glance that I yearned for,
Thereby I became known, where I was previously a stranger.
And I was amazed between his beauty and majesty,
And the tongue of my state began informing of me.
So turn your gaze towards the beauty of his face,
You will find all beauty within him, clearly portrayed.
If all beauty were to complete an image,
And saw him, they would proclaim: “Allahu Akbar!”
I Love You So Much
Nizar Qabbani states:
I love you so much.
And I know the road to the impossible is long.
And I know you are the most exquisite of women.
And I have no alternative.
And I know the time of longing has ended,
And beautiful words have died.
…
Women like the others? What shall we say?
I love you so much…
…
I love you so much, and I know I live in exile,
And you are in exile,
And between you and me,
There is wind,
And clouds,
And thunder,
And lightning,
And snow and fire.
And I know that reaching your eyes is but a dream,
And that reaching you is
Suicide.
And it makes me happy
To tear apart my soul for you, O dear one.
And if they give me a choice,
I would repeat my love for you a second time.
…
O one who wove your shirt from leaves of trees,
O one whom I protected with patience from raindrops,
I love you so much.
…
And I know I travel in the sea of your eyes
Without certainty,
And I leave my mind behind and run,
Run,
Run after my madness.
…
O woman who holds my heart in your hands,
I beg you by God, do not leave me!
Do not leave me!
For what would I be if you were not?
I love you so much,
So very much.
And I refuse to walk away from the fire of your love…
Can a lover in love ever retreat?
And I do not care
If I emerge from love alive,
And I do not care
If I emerge dead.
She Shot My Heart, a Beautiful Maiden
Antara ibn Shaddad narrates:
A beautiful maiden shot my heart
With arrows of her glance that have no remedy.
As the time of the feast passed between her bosoms,
Her gazes are like suns, their beams are gazelles.
The affliction that befalls me is overwhelming,
I concealed it, yet concealment revealed it.
She appeared and I said: “Like a slender branch, it moved,
Stirring the boughs after the southern breeze.”
And I exclaimed: “A frightened gazelle,”
When calamity struck her in the wilderness.
And there appeared, I said, “The full moon’s night,”
As the stars adorned it, the Pleiades flickered.
With a smile, it illuminated the pearl of her lips,
In it is the cure for the hearts of the lovelorn.
She bowed to exalt her Lord, and swayed,
And our great lords were in awe of her majesty.
O Abla, your love is like or is amplified
To me when despair strikes and hope remains.
If time would delight me, I would be,
In my ambition towards its trials, greatly humbled.
Remembering the Evening of the Two Shells
Qais bin al-Muluḥ reflects:
I remembered on the evening of the two shells, Layla,
And throughout ages her memory is renewed.
When the dark raven obstructs me,
Then my heart is far from Layla.
Is it my fate, if I knew,
Is love for Layla waning or intensifying?
For she has glances that can kill a man,
Yet grant life to whom she chooses.
And if she were to be angry, I would see the people perish,
But if she were to accept, lost souls would return.
And they said, “Surely you wept,” and I replied, “Not at all,”
Can one weep from ecstasy?
But the darkness of my eyes,
An enigma pleads with a sharp glance.
And they asked, “What of their tears?”
Both of your eyes have suffered the same pain.
Did the Poets Leave Any Remains?
Antara ibn Shaddad wonders:
Did the poets leave any remains,
Or did you recognize the home after reflections?
O home of Abla, in the idyllic place, speak!
And peace over the home of Abla!
My she-camel halted there, as if she were
Waiting for me to fulfill the needs of the hesitant.
And Abla resides in the beautiful surroundings, and our kin
In sorrow, and the sound of desolation.
Sent greetings from a relic of a bygone era,
More powerful and desolate after the days of the great one.
Settled in the land of visitors, it has become,
Challenging for me to seek you, daughter of Makhram.
I attached myself to it fleetingly and fought her people,
An accusation not equal to your father’s claim.
And truly you descended, so do not think otherwise
That I viewed you as an esteemed beloved.
How is the visit, and your people have made their lair,
With two hills, while our kin are in the valley?
If you have resolved to part, then truly
Your actions are sealed by night’s obscurities.
Nothing startled me, but rather your people’s entourage,
In the midst of a town scattered with sparrows.
Within are two and forty sturdy ones,
Dark as the cover of a raven.
As they mourn brightly, clear in the open,
To the adorations held before their kindest spirits.
Whether a merchant delivers its bounty,
Or you would find it—rainwater splashed in your mouth.
Or a lovely garden full of its verdant plants,
A brief drizzle leads not to waves of despair.
All freely gives themselves to every pureborn,
Leaving every container like a silver coin.
Quick and overflowing, every evening,
The water runs uncontained.
And the flies leave it; they are not overwhelmed,
Crying the cry of a songbird, beautifully delayed.
With grace, he rubbed his arm with his own,
One pressing against the flint-stove.
She turns to rest on the back of a powerful mare,
My steed, saddled atop a gentle ridge.
Could I reach her land, shriek as it may,
Because it is cursed by the waters of deprivation.
This is how she seeks others, a fair narrative,
Arranging the tales one stumbles upon at night.