The Poem of Knowledge: Between Grant and Denial
Imam Al-Shafi’i states:
Shall I scatter pearls among the grazing sheep
and weave verses for the shepherd of the flock?
By my life, if I have lost my way in a corrupted land,
I would not lose myself amidst remarkable words.
If Allah, the Almighty, eases my path with His grace,
and if I find people receptive to knowledge and wisdom,
I would spread beneficial knowledge and gain their love,
but otherwise, it remains concealed within me, and so have you.
And whoever grants knowledge to the ignorant has wasted it,
and whoever denies it to those deserving has committed injustice.
The Poem of Two States: Hardship and Ease
Ali ibn Abi Talib says:
Life presents two states: hardship and ease,
and a contest between blessings and tribulations.
The clever, cultured young man, if fate betrays him,
he does not lose his composure.
When hardship strikes me, I am,
in times of distress, an unyielding rock.
A philosopher, aware of tribulations, knows that neither
blessings nor afflictions endure.
The Poem: Expressing Continuous Artistry
Khalil Gibran states:
Express yourself through the statue,
with noble purposes and high meanings.
Art that you dedicate your life to is a labor,
in the midst of pain and hope.
When you desire a grand life,
you achieve it through monumental works.
Such is genius; and happiness that pleases,
can only be attained through lofty pursuits.
Embrace greatness in your endeavors, and let your burdens
be the concerns of men.
Let your imagination soar, for often,
truth ascends on the wings of imagination.
Aim high, for the closer success comes,
the more it lifts me to heroic heights.
All mankind is stripped of pleasure,
when they live in this world’s constant changes.
What you have received is, O chosen one,
not merely bestowed upon you at nightfall.
In every craft, understanding limits is not
for imposters, nor for the ignorant.
Neither is it found in seeking leisure
before the task is complete, which suggests excellence.
I seek success, and, at once, it opens
for me through endurance and robust actions.
Egypt survives in you, publishing its glory,
the glory of craftsmanship through past ages.
It is the legacy, unmatched in its richness,
of immortal forms and figures.
For ages, they haven’t renewed their artistry,
and no concern has been shown for their decoration.
Until the Europeans rose up, resurrecting
buried treasures through generations.
And they emerged to avenge their homeland’s misery,
changing the state of affairs.
Today, if one asks what our times yield,
in it lies the answer to questions posed.
Today in dear Egypt, if we say,
what remains of its splendor? Only ruins remain.
Today, the source of its pride and glory
is what your hands have crafted.
Her revival manifests like a miracle,
calling for admiration and reverence.
O blessed Egypt, the young one, you have blossomed,
a beautiful maiden endowed with wisdom and grace.
In the shadows of timeless peaks, rests
a delicate touch upon the stony heights.
Sleekly and gracefully, amidst restraint,
with elegance and prosperity.
When the Sphinx, who stands humble, declares,
in times of strife, to share the finest words.
It is the statue of Egypt’s revival that shines,
unforgettable, it evokes nostalgia for homelands.
Let alone this noble symbol, housing within it
the essence of elevation and the spirit of independence.
The Poem: I Saw, Yet Did Not See in My Vision
Sharif Al-Murtadha describes:
I saw, yet did not see in my vision,
suffering akin to the day of singular death.
And time has accustomed me to mourning
like the stranger who settled among friends.
He left me suddenly as if
dashing from my grasp like a missing sword.
When victory came to him as promised,
he led the troops but did not follow.
I once thought that fate would keep him away,
but it was not far from him.
This was no more than the cry of the lost
to those standing amidst the dew, “remain seated.”
So please aid my weeping, my dear,
for every distant sorrow weighs heavy.
Hearts can soften, while within his chest
remain deafened sides, akin to stone.
How often have we seen tears flow,
in the face of calamities, with no aid to bring relief?
They flowed, yet they matched the tears of the humble with shadows.
And his beauty failed to reach me,
for if they envied him, they were incapable of envying.
How many have remained seated after standing?
Once he stood up for good, he did not sit.
He died, leaving us with sheer benevolence.
Empty-handed but enriched by true honor.
No sword style could remain unsheathed
when the embers cooled, and it became a memory.
With blows that pierce the throats,
like the embers of flames illustrated.
How often have we witnessed the struggle on the battlefield,
where white swords remained unbeaten.
Paralyzing the warriors at the spear’s end,
he was also far ahead in playful times.
He bravely confronted darkness with swords,
and how many strayed in fright—within ceaseless events.
How well did his consolation mold in spells,
and how difficult was it to reveal my admiration?
For him, my longing shall not suffice,
as my sorrow surrounds me yet it cannot fade.
The moment I grieved, my shelter shielded me,
overwhelmed in the embrace of oblivion.
And you, forgetful of the inception of tragedy,
have returned in false confidence of sleep.
And, you, worker, who gathers the multitude,
while another takes them from tomorrow’s harvest.
And for the youth, will there be any wealth—
except for the fleeting touch of a finger in hand?
Let it be as the shadow of a cloud,
a quest sought, lost among life’s sparks.
And remain buried in the dust of generations,
for many a lord has rested beneath the earth.
Your grave still flourishes among the tombs,
drenched in scented waters and clearing breezes.
And it remains moist, even if surrounded by graves,
that thrive in the barren valley.
May your Lord greet you at our reunion,
with forgiveness and eternal mercy.
And grant you, on the day of perceived freedom,
wide ground in the prosperous gardens.
Memories of Our Friendship and That Occasion
Khitaam Hamouda writes:
Memories of our friendship and that occasion
weave themselves into a narrative that cannot be disregarded.
The love was mentioned in a Yemeni poem,
capturing the essence of what the charming poet says.
O love, how we have melted in its flames,
and through it, many moments pass that defy description.
What more can I say about me and you,
or how can I explain what I see and describe?
We Harvested Joys and Strange Secrets
Ali Al-Gharab Al-Safaqsi states:
We harvested joys and strange secrets,
restoring youth while overshadowing old age.
And all of humanity rejoices in this ease,
you’ll not find a soul consumed by sorrow.
No brother ever complained of hardship,
nor did the strange absence feel lonely for a day.
He who is born of kings encounters no challenge,
for they find no rivals in today’s world.
Fierce lions and shining stars,
they shine brightly, promised to never set.
Sulaiman is followed by Hamouda,
and the son of the king rises with esteem.
O noble monarch, may you enjoy life’s abundance,
with a heart and spirit forever at peace.
And listen to the words of history,
in this moment, blessed by God with grace.
O Lord, Protect Me, and Disease Shall Not Harm You
Mufti Abdul-Lateef Fathullah expresses:
O Lord, protect me, and disease shall not afflict you,
for the true jewel does not suffer from blemishes.
You complained of an ailment, and God has addressed it
with His care, until that illness vanished away.
When we heard news about you,
everyone had fallen sick with worry.
Yet, they, through the humble lack of comfort,
rose toward Heaven, holding their poverty.
They supplicated with sincere hearts,
until their pleas were answered and fears dissipated.
Thank God, my Lord, He has cured you for us,
and we are forever grateful for this time.
May God protect you from the ailments of time,
and from misfortunes that restrict your spirit.
With a healthy body, draped in the garb of well-being,
and blessed with a long life, this is my intent.
May God keep you, O sun of the ministry,
in the pinnacle of happiness, never to fade.
In robes of glory, from the highest peaks of honor,
in a state of power, forever shall you remain.
As long as a star shines and lightning brightens our path,
and as long as dawn appears above the horizon.
What is for Poetry When I Have Known Its Secrets
Safwan Al-Tajibi reflects:
What is poetry when I have known its secrets,
and it has become an elevated anthem for all.
How has the challenged and misguided entered into the realm,
or sought the righteousness while denying the truth?
O mercy for its prideful lions, how did they claim,
with mockery, their efforts and ambitions?
Lead us into the wilderness, it is merely an opportunity,
but a bitter strife is equipped with ready arrows.
For frogs in the marsh, when they claimed
the song of the trapped, their guidance revealed failure.
When the dogs pretend to be inflated,
and their behavior belies their reality.
O one who roams among the plains, do not boast,
with the ribbons of victory, you shall never reach them.
What to say of those who are relentless in disobedience?
In your utterances of poetry, few attain their heights.
How can their presence diminish, while I am the one
shaping the lines, or guiding the threads?
My stride weakens on your path to the highlands,
and deviations slow me down while crossing sands.
Did your mother neglect you? Rarely did you dedicate
to anyone else, nor stir up movements for your peers.
I wear never-fading crowns, never aging,
and my heel leads the way as sandals move forward.
Ask my time, for I have news from the tribes,
that confirms what their words will affirm.
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