Poem: O Hind, Do Not Hold Back and Sin
Omar Ibn Abī Rabī‘a expresses:
I am blamed for loving you, as if I have instigated it
This love has been instilled in me by those before me.
She said you obey the slanderers; who listens
To an envious liar’s malicious words.
You have severed the ties of affection from the love
That embraced you pure before understanding.
I responded: Listen, O Hind, and comprehend
The words of a heart burdened by your love.
My secret has vanished, and my affection is steadfast
As my heart does not express it openly, O my beloved.
If you are to slay me without reason, allow me
To convey the words of a persecuted, longing lover.
Congratulations on my demise and the tranquility of my love,
For your affection has carved through my flesh and blood.
Poem: The Apparition Departed, Though I Wish It Had Not
From the love poems of Jarīr:
The apparition has departed, and though I wished it would remain,
They severed the bonds of connection, scattering our bonds.
How I long for the locals, as we seek no other shelter,
Neither a new home nor new neighbors.
Once, amidst the caravan, I was lost in joy,
Startled by the foreboding of separation.
O Lord! I am forlorn; had I but known I’d mourn for him,
One weeps, while another rejoices at our distance.
If only you knew what we endure, and would listen
To our laments reaching even to the throne.
Like a sailor whose vessel tilts upon the waves,
He calls to God in secret and in public.
O traveler guiding your mount, convey our greetings,
As you meet those dear to us.
Deliver our messages, lightening your burden,
With steeds that have not swayed in confusion.
So we may state once you accomplish what we yearn,
You are trusted when trust has betrayed us.
You deliver peace to the people of the valley,
Yet far beyond the salty gathering is our peace.
Convey to me, with kindness, essence and beauty,
The qualities that hold for us alike.
Would that this heart could meet one to alleviate
Or one who quenches the thirst of longing.
Or, would that our connection had never awoken,
And never reached into the depths of love.
Would that you reflected upon what you have wrought on us,
O most delectable of people, when evening embraced us.
Poem: Are You Leaving Me to Death While You Are Alive?
Written by Jamīl Buthaynah:
Are you leaving me for death, while you live?
For you hold the remedy for this heart, if you but knew.
She inherited my pain, and it was tormenting,
Buthaynah, for when her robe flew away.
When the remembrance of Buthayna struck,
The duties of the eye overtook it and the tears flowed.
If I do not visit her, longing and passion return,
And my heart is reminded of the affliction from Buthayna.
How can I endure this heartache you ignited?
What hinders her remedy from reaching her?
I hoped you would bestow treasures upon me,
Yet I am left with only hopes unfulfilled.
If only my heart, O Buthayn, would obey me,
I would have healed long ago from your absence.
But it resisted; it acted alone upon its will,
For you are its desire, Buthayna, and its choice.
So awaken, may God guide you, a weary soul,
For long have you suffered with your devotion.
And how many promises have you made—had you fulfilled,
Your words would have sung sweetly to us without delay.
And how many debts I owe to you will remain,
An endless pursuit that drags ever slower.
You render what you grant while asleep, unguarded,
And it grieves me to see your generosity when you awaken.
Poem: I Weep in Prayer Remembering Her
As stated by ‘Urwah Ibn Ḥizām:
I pray and weep in prayer at the thought of her,
Woe be unto me for what the angels inscribe!
O my companions, bend today, and wait till tomorrow,
For a little while, as we are both distraught.
Surely tomorrow, like today, retains bondage; indeed,
The journey tomorrow will be akin to what you witness now.
If I attempt to be estranged from her, obstacles lie before me,
Two veils in my innermost that unite as one.
Poem: A Lover’s Absence
From Abu Nuwas:
Absence in love, he who has not returned
Is but an echo of what remains unwitnessed.
From a cunning lover, she struck her aim,
Whose heart shall respond? Who’s to blame?
The full moon is but a likeness of her,
When it rose above the veils of night.
And the son of the goodly ale could not match her grace,
In beauty nor her captivating gaze.
And when she enfolds another, there radiates
The deep flowers, trailing light at her back.
She seems to say: “Here is one of pliability,”
A call of beauty as her spirit beckons.
Love to a band of trust worthy heartbeats,
She is a hindrance to those partaking in misery.
Sighs filled with sweetness yet clothed in sharpness,
Concealing daggers within the softness.
When they converse, with their hands fanned around,
They direct their complaints towards the moon.
She expresses, “Here is the lovelorn one,”
With no disdain in her heart, untouched by resentment.
Only he who draws near shall witness,
As he seeks in vain to grasp what’s beyond reach.
For so has beauty cradled his essence,
With charms so wondrous, unmatched in grace.
In my pursuit, I seek guidance from the Divine,
Whom I cannot attain, unrested and longing.
No blame holds for the lover enamored;
Until the accuser measures him against my heart’s desire.
Poem: Do Not Blame My Passion
From ʿAfaaf Al-Dīn Al-Talmasānī:
Do not chastise my fervor, for those in love desire,
Only the loving heart understands the beloved.
How could the breeze not ignite this passion,
As it sweeps through the tents of Layla?
What need for my justification when the spark fades,
When my beloved’s luminosity does not dim?
This garment that enwrapped me,
Is the bondage of my patience, yet adorned by love.
His beauty filled the universe, thus we do seek
To embrace every meaning therein.
He whose beauty has captured hearts now dwells,
With riches of beauty, bounty, yet unacquired.
They assembled, entrapped in his love,
Awaken, dreamers of hearts and pursue the tender.
The daughter of the vine has been presented to every noble,
Where there’s no challenge upon herself most precious.
Poem: A Love Letter
Written by Nizar Qabbani:
After Rome was devastated and the flames consumed it, there’s no need to await
A requiem from me, for I have never mourned
The fallen sparrows. You battled like Don Quixote,
While reclining on your bed, assailing imaginary windmills
No fingernail aborted in the fray,
No strand of hair fell from your glorious head,
No drop of blood stained your white attire. What war
Are you discussing? You have not engaged in
A single true battle, nor ever have you touched
A real man’s arm; You’ve never inhaled his scent,
Or bathed in his sweat. Instead, you contrived
Fictitious men and knights, mere paper fantasies,
Loved, adored—all on paper. Therefore,
O little Don Quixote, awaken from your slumber,
Wash your face, sip your morning glass of milk,
And then you will comprehend that every man you cherished,
Was, in fact, made of paper.
Love and Passion Verses
Here is a collection of love and passion poetry:
I love you, O one who stole my heart away,
O one who transformed my reality,
From whom I loved with all my being,
Leading me into dreams, yet leaving me behind.
O Sable, return, and renew our covenant,
Among the greenery, along with the eyes—regret not;
How could we have parted, darling of my heart?
I have not forgotten our pledge; never shall I forget you.
In the meadow by the brook, my gaze intertwined,
With yours, and the heart embraced you.
We met in secrecy and savored moments untold,
While I drank from the cup of your intoxication.
Your eyes queried after my absence,
“Have you forgotten our promise, O sorrowful lover?”
By the Eternal One, I have not forgotten, nor turned away from you;
Yet, my heart, spirit, and essence.
Are in bondage to your charm;
Stand by—honor your captives.
I shall remain, my beloved, dedicated in love,
Submissively devoted to your command.
O beloved, dearest to my tears,
More delightful than sweetness itself;
O intricate lines of time upon my hands,
O child who forgot to grow up.
I know that you love me,
And I love you even more!
Her love courses through me like blood in my veins,
Becoming my sole preoccupation.
I have emptied my heart of everything except her;
Perhaps in my obsession with her, I might find solace.