The Poem of Wisdom Beyond Years
Imam Al-Shafi’i states:
One does not grasp wisdom in their years
When they toil solely for the family’s sake.
True knowledge is only attained by a youth
Free from distractions and bustling thoughts.
If the wise Luqman, who was favored by all,
Had been afflicted by poverty and dependents,
He would not have discerned between straw and greens.
The Poem Seeking a Wise Mentor
Abo Al-Ala Al-Ma’arri remarks:
Let me be guided by one who possesses wisdom,
Guide me to him, I implore you.
I see an angel captivating my heart,
How can one avert the destiny of a king?
Why should I fear the path of demise,
When it is the best road I have traveled?
It frees you from a bitter existence,
And wealth that is lost, becoming sovereign.
The Poem on Women’s Wisdom
Qasim Haddad reflects:
The betrayed women, mourning their men,
Were on the brink of despair, ready to cast
Their rings at the faces of the unworthy,
But they recalled their strength and refrained from breaking away,
Turning back to their homes.
They prepared their beds with spices,
Ignited candles with the saffron of the evening,
And turned to their mirrors,
Sharpening the names of their lovers in their hearts.
And within that stood wisdom.
A woman questioned,
Tearing her garments from every side,
Why does the forest not release its beings at once?
Testing the nature of betrayed women,
Prisoners of loneliness in expansive chambers,
Like the winter of estrangement?
The question came from a soul bruised,
And therein lay wisdom.
A woman took her husband’s belongings,
Started dismantling doors,
Covering windows with drawn curtains,
Opening gaps in the house to the void,
Inviting the moonlight to linger in the hall,
And the stars to watch over the entrances,
So no creature would feel solitude in the darkness.
This was a bold initiative,
Awakening the stones of the forest,
Standing strong for the sake of battles.
She was not alone in her yearning for work,
And therein lay wisdom.
A woman pulled her ornate bed out into the yard,
Unleashing the wild myths with fragrant smoke,
And burst into song,
As a choir of angels harmonized with her,
And the fragrant incense accompanied her,
While the light of the night guarded the celebration,
It delighted her to merge with the air,
And therein lay wisdom.
A woman took out her wedding box,
Full of joyful letters,
She began reciting the finest verses,
As if casting incantations in a shrine.
Passersby were drawn near,
Captivated by her heartfelt words,
And the woman revelled as if she were in love,
With the figure of her beloved etched in her memory.
The wind serenaded her words,
As if awakening desires,
And therein lay wisdom.
The lady of the house let down her hair,
Beginning to weave a mysterious veil
That could charm even the settled hearts,
Tempting minds with means of travel.
With her, a longing for the unknown blossomed,
And wisdom vested her heart.
A crowd of pleasurable beings gathered,
Composing books and furnishing nature with secrets.
And therein lay wisdom.
Betrayed women by their husbands
Fell into their trap, revealing the art of seduction,
As if within that lay an innate wisdom.
The Poem on Tree Wisdom
Qasim Haddad expresses:
The blue-tinted saplings, burdened
By coldness and waiting, spoke wisdom,
Advising him with indexes of anxiety
Not to venture beneath their blue waves while they wept.
Wisdom graced him with the eloquence of colors,
As he lifted shoulders into his coat,
Wiped mud from the steps of the water,
And bent down under the weight of bread,
Remaining steadfast against grievances.
Transformations had placed his hand in prayer,
And adorned his eyelashes with lanterns,
The saplings underwent their own transformations,
Turning yellow with jealousy
And reddening with the weight of revealing.
The Poem of Divine Justice
Abo Al-Fayd Al-Ketani proclaims:
O Lord, this age has dealt harshly with us,
With all it has revealed and lamented.
Disasters have taken a grip on us,
So is there a healer who feels my plight?
Once, I had a treasure of patience to shield me
From the blighted tongues of those who assail me.
Now confront me with the cunning ways of misfortune,
Which clasp my throat in a vice-like grip.
As though it longs for my connection, hence has
Presented trials, making my comfort a burden.
Strangely, I complain to one who has caused me tears,
For it seems that only my grief satisfies them.
Whether He inflicts sorrow or brings me ease,
Whether He torments or lightens my plight,
Whether He decrees my misery, I accept, and if He wishes
Unite us again, who can thwart the songs of my grief?
I seek refuge with the Lord of the Throne from all mishaps,
Your protection grants solace to my family and wealth.
Deliver me from every calamity that has befallen me,
As I call upon You, O Subduer, to guide me through it.
What do I possess, other than You? So relieve me
From the horrors that I face—a burden I can bear no more!
And as we endure the ploys of this time,
May my cries strike a chord where they may find solace.
So when they acknowledge my merit, they may gather to deny it,
Until I fold my cloak in quietude.
Should eternity chasten me, I would boast
Of knowledge laid out by those who came before.
They know nothing of my treasure amidst a tempest,
Thus I rare forgiveness amid the waves of the surrounding seas.
I remain thirsty for the breath of southern lands,
Should calamities surprise me with unexpected arrival.
Yet change shall reveal itself in time,
When the world learns that nothing lasts forever.
Defeat lies ahead, yet it appears there is no affliction,
For what I have withstood seems unreal and pale.
Though unprecedented calamities may hit,
Deluge after deluge, I face them unscathed.
Every cycle brings heartache, but I shall endure,
In a world where everyone shares a semblance of burdens.
Your wisdom calls for retribution when you see fit,
Let me not falter nor derail in every calamity faced.
For if they weigh heavily upon me—a sickening taxonomy—
Let me share my grief, lightened in silence.
Why should grief confide in the poet’s voice,
Unless it offers restoration through shared tales.
May I witness a return of favor, as it were,
To relay delicacies and hence shun despair.
So may the insights imparted through history’s pages
Consolidate not only my stance but also my voice.
Hence, let us not forget his profound meanings,
For I shall divulge my narrative—to be understood, to encompass.
The Poem on the Beauty of Greying Hair
Yahya Al-Ghazal conveys:
It blooms, enhancing the blackness of my greying hair,
As if by chance, it returns me to my youth.
For me, grey hair and dye is nothing more than
A sun adorned by mist.
It obscures a little, then reveals with the breeze,
Changing what was concealed into a memory.
Do not deny the brightness of the silver strands,
For they are flowers of wisdom and intellect.
I cherish what you desire from the realm of youth,
And the elegance of ethics and manners.
The Poem on Humanity’s Diverse Desires
Abo Hayyan Al-Andalusi asserts:
People are diverse in their aspirations; you won’t find
Anyone without an ambition they’ve chosen.
Those devoted to jurisprudence excel at
Judgments, teaching, fatwas, and positions.
Those with prowess in grammar and languages
Regard themselves as attaining the finest virtues.
And they boast because they deem that
The rest of mankind is ignorant of grammar.
Those enveloped in reasoning see everyone else
As deaf to the truth, oblivious.
If one is proficient in narrative studies,
That is the one called an enlightened leader.
While the one who safeguards recitation words is a fool,
Though they prepare the verses for reading and reciting.
They soften what others have made grave, and one who becomes grave,
In what they softened, does not encounter a refined elder.
They think the composition of Al-Shatibi is the ultimate desire,
I have seen nothing more disobedient or perplexing.
A youth may toil for years upon years,
Struggling to perceive it, remaining tortured.
With riddles and enigmas on shifting sands,
Fields devoid of understanding, wrapped in shadows.
The ignorant have a frenzy over its explanation,
Some discuss it briefly while others greatly elaborate it.
Their ultimate aim is to utter words of letters,
To create a ‘copy,’ yet we do not tell lies.
This art was once simple, in practice, but now
Trivially, it has distanced itself from its ease.
A poet circulates among people,
With both praise and blame as their arsenal.
He holds that poetry is the finest virtue,
Yet not simply a quality of fate or habit.
A storyteller retelling tales of those who’ve thrived,
Exemplifies a charm that captivates both heart and soul.
Sometimes, they invoke tears, terrorizing the beholders,
And at other times, fostering mercy for the sinful.
And then there’s the recitation of the sacred text
With the art of modulation becoming a craft.
Seizing manners and preserving letters,
Where quality of handwriting becomes a means of advancement.
To reach a ruler, hoping to be a signatory,
Thus obtaining attire that befits his entourage.
A carrier of lost parts rendered delicate,
She clutches them in order to refresh and write.
They revolve around an ignorant elder and a wise old woman,
Striving to gather heads around themselves, drawing closer.
A mass of varying manifestations of sin that did not exist
Through disobedience, whether young or old.
Will you take the faith of Allah from such as these?
You are thus lost in misguidance and simply misled.
Ultimately, all that he knows is that so-and-so
Related a part of this verse and has long passed.
They have likened him to a fortress, yet are known
As beings that grew accustomed to being in care.
And indulging in medicine—striving in a craft,
They seldom hoard the most unrefined and traumatic tales.
They hover over patients, securing diagnoses,
Curious as to what has brought about this ailment.
Yet they ravage what’s theirs, their concern
Is the same, whether it heals or whether it afflicts.