Poem: Between My Sadness and the Beauty of Yusuf
The poet Ibn Al-Saeati beautifully articulates in his poem “Between My Sadness and the Beauty of Yusuf”:
Between my sorrow and the beauty of Yusuf
A lineage as bright as dawn, not to be lost,
Departing from the gaze of the treacherous,
Gathering patience for the loyal admirer,
The Babylonian eyelids were soaked in longing.
From him, I sip the essence of his refined kiss,
While he laments the subtlety of his back,
The weak complain against the powerful,
Who can block the plea but the gracious one.
The call of the joyful and the grieving sounds,
A benefactor amidst the miser,
And in love, the affluent can be poor.
I marvel at the fortunate soul,
Only a beauty without virtue responds to the call.
The blooms come softly and the scent of generosity
Rises like a crescent moon in the dew.
He is the carpenter who brings forth our praises,
Elevating us from our mundane state of mediocrity,
His praise lingers since money is transient.
The eloquent and the passive are present,
In all its forms, it existed before him.
True to his word, steadfast in remembrance,
His life flourished abundantly with cherished affection.
In his presence, the days awaken with vitality
Or tremble in the sigh of the beloved.
Let his melodies remain with me, for they suffice,
As the land welcomes the fluttering of the winged.
O dear son of the legacy, articulate well,
Let the saying guide you: “O son of the heir,”
Every familiar voice shall echo your brilliance,
An educator guarding against every hidden wound.
O lions of God, they faltered not against the forces of disbelief,
Except for the challenges of prophetic lineage.
You illuminate the earth with distinct knowledge,
Reaping the light of every praiseworthy deed.
Poem: This Is Me
- The poet Nizar Qabbani expresses in his poem “This Is Me”:
1
I have become addicted to my sorrows,
Fearing that I might cease to feel sadness.
I have been stabbed countless times,
To the point where it pains me not to bleed.
I have cursed in every language,
And it worries me that I might not utter another curse…
I have hung my worries on the wall of my poems,
My last wish was not to be buried.
All lands have become indistinguishable…
Neither can I see myself there,
Nor here…
All women have become similar,
As if my poetry was a trivial game,
Or a moonlit stroll.
I write poetry, my dear,
To discover who I truly am…
2
O my friends:
I travel in the train of my tears.
Do poets ride in anything other than trains of distress?
I ponder inventions of water…
For poetry makes every dream possible
Until the desert blooms behind my departure.
And I contemplate inventing the flute,
So the poor can enjoy a tune after me.
If they seize my land of childhood,
I have made my poem my homeland…
3
O my friends:
The sky is indeed wide…
But the moneylenders who divided our inheritance,
And split our homelands,
And divided our bodies,
Left us with nothing.
O my friends:
I have fought an era unmatched in its ugliness,
And opened the wound of my tribe’s despair.
I care not for all the street vendors,
Nor for all the courtiers’ writings…
4
O my friends:
Forgive me if I have disturbed you,
I have no obligation to declare my repentance.
This is me…
This is me…
This is me…
Poem: I Still Weep Tears for You
The poet Ahmed Shawqi conveys in his poem “I Still Weep Tears for You”:
I still weep tears from my eyes,
Mourning the absence of my uncle, for he does not return,
Until I looked upon existence with clear sight,
And the haziness lifted, revealing my reality.
I saw an era that has cast its deadly net,
And everyone walks into the trap set for them.
They throw arrows that have often strayed from their targets,
And yet they are not lost to the ones who are ensnared.
They are the bane of existence and the offspring of desolation,
And they have inherited this sorrow from those gone before.
Poem: I Wept, but with Hot Tears
The poet Elia Abu Madi shares in his poem “I Wept, but with Hot Tears”:
I wept, but with burning tears,
And it was not just tears, but my very soul grieved.
Over the noble one of perfect morals, the one chosen,
For he was the crown of reason, the embodiment of youth,
And the mourners declared his loss,
As the world trembled at the horror of the tragedy.
The hearts of all felt anguish,
Tears of sorrow flowed from every eye.
Indeed, one of the greatest writers has passed in Egypt,
Leaving behind in the hearts the greatest of sorrows.
If there were others like him among men,
We would have subdued the shock of this calamity.
Had he been redeemed with the souls of the noble,
We would have sacrificed for him all brave souls.
A youth who passed away, barely knowing life,
Without harboring a heart burdened by distrust,
Indeed, he was daring, bold, and never sought
Death other than with noble souls.
And he was generous, never withholding help,
Thus he gave his spirit up to fate.
Peace be upon Egypt, the land of the brave, after him,
For it has buried his hopes within the depths of a grave.
The orator of the land of the Nile, you left it so quiet,
And you were known for delivering your eloquent messages.
As the conversations all stretched and rose,
In hopes of you delivering us a few words.
The hearts broke with grief as though
Your death was an arrow striking every soul.
No mother mourned for her only child,
With a grief greater than mine for you and my lament.
Now, Egypt calls to you, O best of those who departed,
And O best one to be looked up to in times of calamity.
I entrusted that you would heed only my call,
So why do you refuse every plea?
Perhaps you are rejoicing in the long-awaited moment,
For you have always been my sword in every struggle,
And my refuge in every storm.
Indeed, you have often defended Egypt,
As a bee defends its home from any invader.
Awakened it from slumber after slumber,
And lifted it from falls upon falls.
You instilled love in its children,
You were the finest role model in doing so.
You raised the banner of truth above its lands,
Embracing every patriotic soul.
If you filled the hearts with love,
Indeed, you were created for nothing but love.
Rest assured, for you have given your people their due,
For they have long slept while you remained watchful.
History shall remember your name, immortalized,
For you were the best among the best in the finest nation.
May you receive countless greetings from the Most Merciful,
And a thousand salutations from the land of Egypt.