The Most Beautiful Verses of Poetry

Most Beautiful Verses of Poetry on Love

  • By Nizar Qabbani:

Love, my beloved, is a beautiful poem written on the moon. Love is illustrated on all the leaves of the trees, engraved on the feathers of birds and the drops of rain. Yet, which woman in my homeland can love a man without facing condemnation? Instead, she is pelted with fifty stones.

  • By Al-Mutanabbi:

For your eyes, what the heart endures and what it has faced,

And for love, what remains of me and what has been lost.

I was never among those whose hearts fell into love,

But whoever sees your eyelids becomes infatuated.

Between satisfaction and discontent, closeness and distance,

There lies a realm for the weeping of teardrops.

The sweetest love is that which doubts connection,

And in separation, it is the eternal hope and fear.

Angry from the allure, intoxicated by the youth,

I sought her intercession with the sweetness of my youth.

Most Beautiful Verses of Poetry on Separation

  • By Al-Abbas ibn Ahnaf:

I cried tears in dread of separation,

Before separation and while I remain unaware.

Had my beloved departed and left,

The place of my tears would have been blood.

In love, there are two poisoned cups,

Whose taste is bitter and sorrowful.

One is the cup of the beloved’s separation,

And the other, the cup of farewell, is a tough pill to swallow.

  • By Jarir:

Perhaps the departure from this dwelling nudges me,

On the eve of the solitary paths of travel.

By the life of beautiful women, they never compensated my yearning,

With them and without embellishment of crafted verses.

And how many friends I’ve lost that we once kept,

And how many have faltered from steadfast devotion.

Indeed, the one who, on the day of the dove, bowed,

Has a heart that repents to God, ever prostrating.

I saw the beautiful ones enamored by love,

With hopes that shimmer and greed at the rendezvous.

Long have they trapped hearts with their enchanting gazes,

To the adornment of the world’s ornateness and allure.

Do you blame me if I express, after my endurance,

Visions of a charming and distinctive love?

And if we seek sympathy from you, to derive benefit,

It would be among the most cherished pleasures we hold.

Most Beautiful Verses of Poetry on Praise

  • By Jarir:

Indeed, the one who sent the Prophet Muhammad,

Placed the caliphate in the hands of the just Imam.

You have benefitted by what you withheld from avarice,

While taxes are gathered on the bridges of the coast.

Your justice has reached those who dwell on our land,

To you goes the need of every traveling delegation.

I indeed hope for immediate goodness from you,

For the soul is deeply attached to the sweetness of the present.

And God has decreed in the holy book a duty,

For the wayfarer and the impoverished guardian.

  • By Al-Farazdaq:

This is the one whom the desert knows by his footsteps,

And the house recognizes him, as do the sacred places.

This is the son of the best of God’s servants,

This is the pure, immaculate, and noble figure.

This is the son of Fatimah, if you were unaware,

Through his lineage, the prophets of God were sealed.

Your voice does not diminish his worth,

The Arabs know who you have denied, and so do the non-Arabs.

Both of his hands are a refuge, the benefits of which are well-known,

Both are capable and never suffer from lack.

Easy in his nature, there is no fear from his manners,

Adorned by two traits: charming demeanor and noble qualities.

Most Beautiful Verses of Poetry About the Mother

  • By Mahmoud Darwish:

I long for my mother’s bread

And my mother’s coffee,

The touch of my mother… Childhood grows within me,

Day after day on the breast of time.

I love my life because,

If I die, I will feel ashamed of my mother’s tears.

  • By Karim Maatouk:

God advised you as the scriptures have,

And poetry timidly approaches before departing.

Whenever I mentioned you, O my mother, with a verse,

It was a standing that transcends what I describe.

The field of my letters blooms when it carries,

A cloud upon which goodness is harvested for my mother.

And the mother is a school, they say, and I say,

That the halls of schools are pathways to her essence.

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