Poem: O Love Yet to Be Born
O love yet to be born,
O longing like waves within my chest,
O passion that overwhelms my being,
O most exquisite tremors of the hand,
O dawn that breaks upon my face,
O morning of tomorrow,
O islands stretching before my eyes,
And seas inundated by the tide.
Love, like a wave, drowns me,
And the surging longing intensifies,
And passion arrives like a current,
Carrying me away from behind the dam.
Poem: Do Not Measure My Life by What I Have Lived
Do not measure my life by what I have lived,
Nor by what I may bring to life tomorrow.
For lovers possess their own lives and ages;
With every passing second, a life is lived.
Whenever I draw closer to you,
I am struck by a beautiful pain, how can I forget it?
Each time nostalgia arcs within me,
I retreat alone, observing the woman.
Am I truly myself, or have I become
Something else in this love?
In my passion, I have come to you满
Filled with longing, I scream within: Allah!
My inability to find the words is not arrogance;
It is but a failure to convey the horror of my feelings.
Romantic Nabati Poetry 1
You are the taste, the beauty, and the elegance in every hue,
I came bearing a red rose, its fragrance finely tuned.
As soon as I discovered where it would go, the blossom withered, feeling shy,
But praise be to the Creator; His command is between “Be” and “It is.”
He bestowed you with beauty and grace, making you its first corner,
The stars of this sky at night celebrate your appearance.
And when you walk through the valley, it bears the humiliation of the shouldered burdens.
Romantic Nabati Poetry 2
A mere glance is enough for me, for I found you within my heart,
And because you are the very essence of the desire haunting my soul.
Just a glance from you is sufficient,
And I only need the touch of your hands for the rest of my life.
It is enough for my eyes; when I lose you, they go wild.
It is enough to see the feelings of my heart reflected in your eyes.
Suppose you think that time will be harsh; your thoughts mislead you!
Forget my feelings, while the world still owes you a debt!
No matter what people say about you,
And regardless of how tough my time and your years pass,
You will always occupy a place within my spirit,
Like a heartbeat that revives the corners of your prison.
Short Romantic Poem by Abu Atta al-Sindi
Longing calls you with politeness,
Yet your heart has withered from joy.
As for someone like you, who seeks the divine,
If you think I’ll turn back,
You only deter me with clarity,
Fluttering like it embodies defeat.
Short Romantic Poem by Al-Siraj Al-Baghdadi
Aha! Today my heart aches; what’s going on?
It returns to despair if we are apart.
Is solace a useless hope?
The floodwaters have risen; the threshold has been breached.
Do not seek enchantments in this love,
For love does not benefit from them.
Romantic Poetry by Nizar Qabbani
I will tell you I love you,
When all the old languages of love have come to an end,
And nothing remains for lovers to say or do.
Then will begin my mission: to reshape the stones of this world,
One tree at a time, one planet at a time,
And poem by poem.
I will tell you I love you,
When the distance between your eyes and my notebooks narrows,
And the air you breathe passes through my lungs.
And the hand you place on the car seat becomes my own.
I will declare it when I can summon back my childhood, my horses, my soldiers, my paper boats,
And restore the blue times with you on the shores of Beirut,
When I shivered like a fish between my fingers,
And covered you when you fell asleep,
With a sheet crafted from the stars of summer.
I will tell you I love you,
As the ears of wheat ripen; they need you, and the springs need to flow, and civilizations need to thrive,
And birds must learn to fly, and butterflies must learn to paint.
I will tell you I love you,
When borders finally collapse between you and the poem,
And sleeping on a page becomes neither simple nor assumed.
Word by word, and stanza by stanza,
I do not suffer from the intellectual’s complex,
But my essence rejects bodies that do not speak intelligently,
And eyes that do not pose questions.
For a woman is a poem I die writing, and I die forgetting.
I will tell you I love you,
When I heal from the split personality that tears me, and become a single entity.
I’ll say it when the city and desert reconcile within me,
And all the tribes leave the shores of my blood, engraved by the wise of the third world on my body;
A wound I have carried for thirty years, injuring my essence,
And issuing a judgment to flog you eighty lashes for the crime of femininity.
Therefore, I will not say I love you today, and perhaps not tomorrow.
The earth takes nine months for a flower to bloom, and the night endures great pain to give birth to its star,
While humanity waits thousands of years for a prophet to emerge.
So why can’t you wait a bit longer to become my beloved?
Romantic Poetry by Mahmoud Darwish
The dove settles,
Prepare the earth for me to rest,
For I love you even to exhaustion…
Your morning is a fruit for songs,
And this evening has long gone as we have time when a shadow enters the marble.
I liken myself when I hang myself around a neck that embraces nothing but clouds,
You are the air stripping itself before me like grape tears,
You are the beginning of the wave’s family as it clings to land when it is uprooted.
I love you; you are the origin of my soul and its conclusion.
The dove flies away,
The dove settles.
I and my beloved are two voices on the same lip.
I belong to my beloved, and my beloved belongs to its astray star.
We enter into a dream, but it delays itself so we cannot see it.
And when my beloved sleeps, I awaken to guard the dream from being seen.
And I chase away the nights that passed before our meeting.
I choose our days with my hands,
Just as my table rose has been chosen for me.
So sleep, my beloved,
Let the voice of the sea reach my knees.
And sleep, my beloved, for I will descend into you and rescue your dream from a cruel prick.
And sleep, my darling,
On my hair that’s braided, upon you, peace.
The dove flies away,
The dove settles.
I saw April upon the sea,
I said: I have forgotten your hands’ attention.
I forgot the chants above my wounds.
How many times can you give birth in my dreams,
And how many times can you kill me so that I may cry: I love you?
For you to find peace?
I call you before the words,
I fly to your waist before arriving at you.
How many times can you place in the beaks of this dove
The titles of my soul,
And vanish like the horizons on the slopes so that I realize: you are Babylon, Egypt, and Syria.
The dove flies away,
The dove settles.
Where are you taking me, my beloved, from my parents,
And my trees, from my small bed, my weariness, from my mirrors, my moon, from my lifespan, from my sleepless nights,
From my clothes and my modesty? Where are you taking me, my beloved?
To where the fields ignite in my ears, carry me in two waves,
And break two ribs, drink me, then ignite me, leaving me in the pathway of air towards you.
It’s unfair… it’s unfair.
The dove flies away,
The dove settles.
For I love you, my waist is bleeding,
And I run from my sorrow in nights expanded by the dread of my fears.
Come to me often, and disappear for a moment,
Come a little closer, and be absent for a long time,
Come come but do not stand still; sigh for the step that stands still.
Beautiful Romantic Poetry
She appeared as the full moon crowned by the Pleiades,
A deer in the meadow, with a radiant complexion.
She shot me with glances and I fell lifeless,
Then she greeted me with peace and I came back to life.
With her stained hand, she gestured towards me,
Bringing me close, whispering sweetly.
So I spoke while we were in a fine state:
Are you missing anything from the gardens of paradise?
She replied, astonished by my inquiry:
Indeed, I gathered the gardens of paradise for you!
So I said: You speak the truth, with both my sight and hearing,
For he who possesses the crystalline beauty retains it.
She said: I inherited it and it revealed its charms upon me,
So I asked: And where has the charm of Babylon gone?
She replied: Do you not see it in my eyes?