The Contrast of Day and Night
The renowned poet Ahmad Shawqi once stated:
The difference between day and night makes one forget,
So remind me of my youth and days of joy.
And describe for me a time filled with vigor,
That was painted from fantasies and touch.
It passed like a playful breeze,
A pleasant year, accompanied by the sweetness of smiles.
And has Egypt departed from my heart,
Or has time, in its relentless course, healed its wound?
Every passing night deepens the ache,
Softening the bond as time grieves on.
Whenever the sails echo on the first of night,
Or howl back after the bell tolls,
Like a silent observer nestled in my heart’s chambers,
Each swell of the waves carries your essence anew.
O daughter of the waves, your father is not stingy —
What drives him to deny and withhold?
Is it forbidden for the melodious to dwell,
While it is permissible for birds of every kind?
Every home deserves its kin, except
Where evil doctrines sow their seeds.
My soul is a cauldron, and my heart is a sail,
Together, they drift in tears and anchor.
Make your face a beacon, guiding my path,
Between the sands and the shores of fate.
If I were to be captivated by eternal life,
My soul would still yearn for you in every moment.
And my heart flutters softly near unquenched springs,
Thirsting for the shades beneath the sun’s rays.
God bears witness that your image has not faded from my eyes,
Even for a moment; your presence never leaves my thoughts.
My mind awakens with your memories, and with the bright morning light,
While tranquility at dusk softens my concerns.
And it’s as if I see the island becoming
Alive with the chirping of its charming birds,
She is Bilqis amidst the flora and verdure,
Emerging from the waves, a sight that leaves none disinterested.
All that she asks is to be celebrated by the Nile,
For even before her, no one had ever rejoiced in this festivity.
The Nature of Love and Blame
Ahmad Shawqi further expresses:
The chastisement matches the extent of affection,
And he whom I scold is valued by friends.
I criticize those who torment me, but I also blame myself,
For I frustrate it and find torment to be pleasing.
If I could, I would repent fully,
But how can I turn away from what my soul cherishes?
My heart desires, and in return, it suffers,
And its keeper is rewarded for reaping what it has sewn.
If punishment existed, I would endure it, yet,
The elusive gazelle knows no such fate.
Critics may scold without witnessing,
When, long ago, truth was lost among the people.
I awakened, but my heart rejects solace,
As it flits back to the jubilant days of youth.
It seems that the hand of love controls my heart,
For there is no screen between it and desire.
As if the tale of longing is a prelude,
A narrative that remains unfinished.
It feels like I am bound to a wine of yearning,
We have a pact with it that we cherish together.
If I insist on resisting a love that fervently seeks,
The promise is renewed, and the drink extends anew.
Damascus
Once again, Ahmad Shawqi writes:
Greetings from the gentle breeze of Barada,
And tears that never dry, O Damascus!
Apologies for the simplicity of my verses,
For the grandeur of loss escapes easy description.
And the memories of you torment my heart,
Drawn eternally to the beat of your pulse.
Wounds linger deep within, inflicted by the hands of fate,
As I entered, the sunset graced the embrace of our meeting,
Your face beams with laughter, breaking through the clouds,
While beneath your gardens, rivers flow with joy.
Fields are filled with leaves and flowers,
Around me are youthful companions, bright and sincere,
They seek and achieve great ambitions in the realm of honor.
Bards narrate their tales and from their lips flow melodies,
While orators rise with eloquent rhetoric.
Each line of my poetry resonates across all neighborhoods,
Attracted by the presence of your essence.
I admired their noble spirits until they flared,
Like the nostrils of lions unveiled in valor.
Every slave of Umayyad lineage abounds in pride,
Gain your grace, O Allah, for tales continue,
To pierce the ears of those who cherish them.
We Are Created for Life and Death
Ahmad Shawqi eloquently reflects:
We are formed for life and for death,
And from these, all events unfold.
Everyone born lives and dies as though,
Their essence never graced existence.
The cradle of a person lies in the hands of fate,
Much like a coffin amid mourners’ cries.
What newborn escapes the grasp of pain?
So who among the long-lived is free from harm?
This is a world, a battle in which we strive,
Aiming for both sword and spear,
All people are pushed toward this turret,
Just as the timid are driven toward courage.
We endure what we must endure, then cast
Arrow-like fate from the hand that guides us.
May God’s peace be upon you, O dear Tamzar,
For upon your resting place, we offer prayers,
And for ninety years you so gracefully lived,
As a paragon of virtue unparalleled.
You exemplified the faithful, causing all to ponder:
Perhaps you are the mother of true believers.
And in your virtues, legacies abide,
Today, you represent all that endures.