Poem: Because Longing is My Sin
Written by Farouk Gouida:
Do not speak of yesterday; I lived it in silence,
Can the heart forgive? Who will heal its wounds?
My heart, your eyes, and the days between them,
A long path weary with its sorrows.
If the heart falters, how shall we regain our years?
All that has died within us, how can we revive it?
Longing is a long road I tread alone,
Until the path ends, leaving its songs at rest.
We arrived on this path as joy carried us,
Yet today we return, mourning with a river of tears.
I still know that longing is my sin,
And love, by God, is a fault I do not hide.
My heart, which remains a child, reproaches me;
How did the holiday pass? How did its nights fade?
Oh joy that still intoxicates me like a specter,
How did the dream end in sorrow and confusion?
Even as the holiday’s ghost departed,
We returned to sadness, wounding ourselves anew.
The garment of dreams still deceives me with light,
Aged may become a child in their desires.
At night, I yearn for a fragrance that revives me,
Inquire of the scent how distance afflicts it.
And ask the night if its wings have closed,
For it no longer sleeps while my tears flow down.
Oh knight of love, is there forgiveness in affection?
You shattered the edifice of love and now mourn it.
Love flows through us like life itself,
Yet when it departs, nothing remains.
I have scolded my heart so often for its memories,
While your youth is cast aside in despair.
Each day, you relive yesterday in weariness,
The wound may heal, yet memories keep it alive.
If you could return this life, I would know that heart,
You are, by God, still a wandering pulse within me.
I long for the sin in your eyes, where my forgiveness lies,
Oh sin of my life, Oh purest of nights.
What good is sorrow when I have embraced my sin?
Neither forgiveness matters, nor do I seek absolution.
I see life in your eyes as a pardon,
My heart has strayed, so tell me, how do I guide it?
Poem: As the Worthy of Determination Come the Resolve
Written by Al-Mutanabbi:
As the worthy of determination meet the resolves,
And so do the great meet with their honors.
In the small’s eyes, the trifles appear grand,
While in the eyes of the mighty, the great seem small.
The sword of the state requires a weighty army,
Yet the established armies struggle to fulfill its demands.
And what it seeks from people, it has within itself,
A claim most vehemently rejected by the predators.
The best of birds forges its life with its weapon,
Eagles and predatory birds bring forth its events.
It matters little if they are created without claws,
For it was dashed with swords and axes alike.
Do you know whether the crimson event knows its color?
And which of the two cups knows the bounty?
It quenched its thirst with pure clouds before descending,
Yet when it came near, it was quenched with skulls.
It built its own high place while spears pierced the spears,
And waves of death crash around it.
It was like madness, yet it became,
A throne claimed amid the fallen bodies.
It was a stray of time, once led by fate,
Yet religion is a burden to destiny that torments.
Each night you spent has taken something from you,
And when they claim what they take, it becomes a debt.
If what you plan is an ongoing act,
It must happen before the strings are cast upon it.
How do you expect the Romans and Russians to demolish it,
If the stab is foundational to it and acts as its pillars?
And they have judged her and death is the judge,
None lived in vain and none prospered in wrongdoing.
Did they come to you dragging iron as if,
They galloped to you with steeds that have no limbs?
When they flashed, the whites could not be recognized,
With their clothes akin to those who wear them.
A gathering arising from east to west,
And a din in the air from it.
All tongues and nations converged there,
Yet the only interpreters are the translators.
So may God have a time that dissolves deceit with His fire,
And none remains but a sword or a bludgeon.
What cuts not through armor and spear,
And those who flee from knights clash not.
You stood while in death, no doubt for the stand,
Like you were in the eyelid of death, while asleep.
The heroes pass by you without sound of defeat,
And your face is bright and your smile gleams.
You have surpassed the measure of courage and wisdom,
To a saying by people, you are aware of the unseen.
You wrapped them with your wings around your heart,
They die beneath it while your principles rise.
With a strike that reached the heights, and victory hidden,
And it became a core and victory approached.
You scorned the trivialities until you threw them away,
To the point that the sword seems to curse the spear.
And whoever seeks the lofty conquest surely,
Its keys are the white, swift swords.
You scattered them upon every hillside,
As coins are scattered over a bride.
The steeds trample over the ridges of the fringes,
And the eateries abound around the ridges.
The chicks of victory think you visited her,
While she is the proud noble.
If she slips, you would steady her on her belly,
As those who tread upon the firm soil.
In every day, this noble is pressing forward,
Behind him stands the march of the face.
Will he deny the scent of the lion until he tastes it,
Though the beasts know the scent of the fierce lions?
Indeed, it grieved him for the son of his family,
And by kinship, the carries of the prince act boldly.
He passed, thanking his friends in his haste,
For they have occupied him with their calamities.
And he understands the sound of the gibberish in them,
While the voices of swords are in different tongues.
He rejoices in what he has given you, not out of ignorance,
But like the loot he escaped with.
And you are not a king defeating your equal,
But you are the singular truth that overwhelms the associate.
The glory of Adnan is honored by it, no rebellious ones,
The world, too, boasts about it, not even the capitals.
All thanks be to you in the pearl after which I long,
For you give it, and I compose its praises.
And I chase after your gifts on the battlefield,
Thus, I am neither scorned nor are you regretted.
For every bird that your feet have touched,
If it falls on its ears in episodes of darkness.
Oh, you sword that is not sheathed,
Nor does it allow any doubt and has no defender.
Congratulations upon striking the heads in glory and elevation,
I ask of you and Islam that you remain safe.
And may the Merciful protect your limits from their offense,
And in striking, be vigilant, our enemies, and ever-resistant.
Poem: O Neighbor of the Valley
Written by Ahmed Shawqi:
O neighbor of the valley, you have enchanted and returned me;
My longing for your sight has increased.
Your memory submerged my nights in a drunken dream,
Resembling illusions from your recollection.
In memory, your love appears, even in sleep,
When I elevate thoughts of you and keep your love guarded.
Without doubt, the memories bear a tear in my heart,
And the echoes of years whisper sweet tales.
I passed by the gardens on a hill,
How many times have my visions danced with yours!
Green as spring, it captivated nature in its surroundings,
I used to encounter you, in delight, there.
I was unaware of the sweetness of embraces in love,
While the meadows intoxicated me with your fragrance.
I had no knowledge, and while desire screamed in my veins,
Until my arms, delighted, intertwined with you.
The branches of your youth embraced my side,
And your cheeks glowed red like blooming flowers.
Where are the anemones when they swayed,
And your cheeks blossomed with a soft glow!
I descended into two nights, one of your branches and the dusk,
With intoxication tempting me as it tempted you.
Desire overcame me and I was engulfed in emotions,
I kissed your lips like morning kisses shimmering.
Words faltered, my tongue ceased, as I spoke
To my heart with the sweetest of your embraces.
It fulfilled some of my desires as I gazed,
Into love’s language, my eyes meeting yours.
Neither the past nor the future holds,
With you, ah! The exile distresses me.
Brown-skinned, the object of my longing and joy,
Time united us for a day, the day of your meeting.
Poem: Advise Me in My Solitude
Written by Imam Al-Shafi’i:
Advise me in my solitude,
And spare me from public counsel.
For advice among the masses is a kind,
Of reproach I cannot bear listening to.
If you oppose me and go against my words,
Do not despair if obedience does not come your way.