Desires of the Heart
- As Ahmed Shawqi once articulated:
I desire your separation, yet my heart resists,
Your reproach fills my soul with grief.
Though you forsake me, sleep abandons me too,
And darkness ignites in me both sorrow and despair.
I remember you through every beautiful sight,
My gaze longs for you, while my heart succumbs.
I lament my torment born of my passion for you,
And in return for the suffering, I offer you love.
I am aware that your nature is to be aloof,
So why have I made love my constant pursuit?
Perhaps there’s a reproach akin to life itself,
And the heart is heavy with longing and sorrow.
Will you abandon me as recompense for my affection?
Has love reproached you enough?
Every charm in life is a sin,
Should we consider your indifference a fault?
I took your affection to heart and soul,
My eyes beckoned you, and the heart answered.
You are among the finest in my regard,
In every aspect, body and soul.
I love you when you stroll with pride,
Yet I fear the pride will become habitual.
They say, in replacement lies comfort and spirit,
I sought a substitute but found only hardship.
I pondered my thoughts, hoping to find solace,
Yet why does comfort still evade me?
If the cup fails to erase my worries,
May the hand that serves me know despair.
For I remain more dignified than one to indulge,
More honored than a tavern maiden’s cup.
My soul, ablaze in glory, blooms,
Like dew-kissed roses catching the dawn’s light.
The Book of Love
- Nizar Qabbani expressed:
As long as you are my little green bird,
My beloved,
Then surely, God is in the heavens.
You ask me, my love,
What separates me from the sky?
The difference between the two, dear one,
Is when you laugh, and I forget the heavens.
Love, my darling,
Is a beautiful poem written in the moonlight,
It is inscribed on every leaf of the trees,
Etched on the feathers of birds and raindrops.
Yet, in my country, any woman in love
Is pelted with fifty stones.
When I fell into love,
Everything changed.
The kingdom of the Lord transformed,
Now darkness sleeps in my coat,
And sunlight rises from the west.
Oh Lord, my heart is no longer sufficient,
For the one I love outweighs the world.
No one else,
So place in my heart one,
That fits within the expanse of the earth.
You still ask me about my birthday,
So note this—the date of your love for me is my birthday.
If the genie emerged from his lamp,
And granted me but a minute
To select from jewels and emeralds,
I would choose your eyes without hesitation,
Those deep black eyes,
Those shimmering rain-soaked eyes.
I never ask my Lord for anything,
Except for two things:
To shield those eyes,
And grant me two extra days in my life,
To write poetry for these pearls.
If you were, my friend,
At my level of insanity,
You would toss the jewels off you,
And sell your bracelets,
And sleep within my eyes.
Count on the fingers of both hands:
First, my love, you are.
Second, my love, you are.
Third, my love, you are.
Fourth, fifth, sixth,
Seventh, eighth, ninth,
Tenth, my love, you are.
Poems of Old Love
- Mohammed Darwish remarked:
Upon the ruins, we bloomed,
And our faces gently touch the sand,
As the summer winds weave softly,
Pleading for time’s embrace.
We floated through songs like captives,
Dodging the droplet’s descent.
Come once again into my thoughts,
Oh sister,
The late night strips me of colors and shadows,
It protects me from disgrace.
In your eyes, my ancient moon,
My roots cling to azure slumber,
Under the sun and palms,
Far from the exile’s mist,
Near to my loved ones’ warmth.
In you, I desired my childhood,
Since the spring birds took flight.
The trees became bare,
Your voice echoed, a wistful song,
Occasionally rising from wells,
Or sometimes delivered by the rain.
Pure as fire,
Like trees and verses cascading down.
Come close again,
For there was something in your eyes I longed for,
I waited patiently,
Draw me into your embrace,
Hold me tightly as a captive,
Craving childhood’s essence through you.
We crossed paths,
Bound as if captives,
My hand, unaware, intertwined with yours,
Inherited all its pain.
When we parted,
It felt as if time stood still,
As if two strangers passed,
Captured by fate,
Not yearning,
Nor regretting,
Zoning into the chaos,
To purchase our little needs.
Our night left no ashes of flame,
And something stirs within my veins,
Yearning to drink from your hand,
And extinguish the memory.
A star fell,
Gracefully gliding across our fingertips,
As I savored your mulberry lips,
And when I wrote of your gaze,
It soaked every word I penned.
Our pillows bore witness,
Along with our coffee.
When you departed,
Nothing departed with you.
Perhaps I have become but a fading shadow,
A cloud in the wind,
Falling towards the west.
Yet when I strive to forget you,
A star lands on my palm.
To you, honor,
For you liberate my imagination,
From your echo of freedom,
And the shackles of memory.
I leaned against a cushion,
A wild horse in full gallop,
In cold nights,
You are the sun that sings within my blood.
I call you my childhood,
As the breast blossoms,
I name you spring,
And in turn, the grass and flowers rise high.
I name you the sky,
As the rains and thunders reply.
You deserve all glory,
And the bounds of my joy know no limits.
My meetings have no end,
Yet my promises are unfulfilled.
To you, glory,
As evening falls upon us,
While the sun brushes its hair across the sea.
The final kiss rests
Upon my eyes like embers.
Take the winds from me,
And kiss me,
One last time in this lifetime.
As dawn breaks,
And the sun combs its hair in the east,
With henna and celebrations,
And a ticket to the realm of the beloved.
Give me the songs,
And remember me,
In a flash of lightning,
As twilight caught me,
And the bells chimed for the procession of the beautiful captives.
My heart, cold as diamonds,
And my dreams, mere boxes on the dock.
Take from me this spring,
And bid farewell.
To Your Eyes, What the Heart Can Bear
- The poet Al-Mutanabbi stated:
To your eyes lies what the heart has borne and faced,
And for love, what remains of me and what has vanished.
I was not one to succumb to love’s embrace,
But anyone who gazes upon your lashes will indeed love.
Between contentment and discontent, closeness and distance,
There’s a room for the weeping eye’s flood.
The sweetest love is that which doubts its connection,
In the absence, it seeks and fears time itself.
In anger gazing, intoxicated by youth’s folly,
I implored her in my youth’s blurry gaze,
And concealed my lips from her, only to receive a kiss at my crown.
Among graceful fawns, like your neck, my heart swayed,
To distinguish a devoted from a coward.
Not everyone who loves remains pure in solitude,
Some conceal and please love, while horses unite.
May God bless the days of youth that bring joy,
And act as if the ancient Babylonians.
When you wear the world as a garment,
It tears and yet the attire withstands.
And I have never witnessed eyes like those on their farewell,
That spoke all the anguish in their glance.
They drowned with the trials of longing,
And the sweetness of farewells especially of parting fear.
We bid them farewell, as if they understand us,
Like Ibn Abu Hayja stood within the heart of a legion,
Stitched memories as though David wove,
Forts of armies as if choosing their souls.
To guide all armor and helmets toward them,
And draw to them barriers and trenches.
They invade between the banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates,
Setting up their base in between the gardens.
And they return, bloodied as if their land mourns,
Weeping blood from a compassionate remembrance.
Do not convey my words to him, for he is
Brave, and when mentioned, his courage ignites.
He plays with the ends of swords,
Yet he dances along the lines of fractured words.
Like those who ask for rain with a droplet,
Or chastising those who scold for heavenly mercy.
You have given mercy till you have given all in every way,
And even then, praise surrounds your every being.
When the King of Rome beheld your delight in generosity,
He rose from the seat of a humble beggar,
And released the spear for battles unyielding,
To strike with might, ever skillful.
And has sent forth from distant lands,
A letter not far from your near steeds.
However, racing forth above the crowns of humility.
When he approached, he shielded his whereabouts,
The radiance of glinting steel, your shining star.
And marched calmly across the carpet, unknowingly,
Whether to the sea or to the full moon.
None can deter the foes from their ardor,
With their humble demeanor in eloquent speech.
When you would write to him before this day,
You wrote of the accursed ones.
So if you could offer them safety, be cautious,
And if you hand him the sword’s edge, be prepared.
Did the white blades not leave any of them
Bound for freedom or oppressed by their captives?
They came to quench drought, but their blades stood still,
Swathed in the river of desires; their desires didn’t yield.
Reaching the status of noble reputations by virtue,
I lit a flame that described boundaries once more.
He deserves no less than the arc that dreams can make,
As he sows deeds into the threads of time,
Encounters that renew promise,
And nights that remind of the paths lost in waiting.
Although the ink often runs dry,
Stories shall remain etched in hearts.