Your Sword is as Rhetorical as Socrates
Your sword, sharp as Socrates in speech,
Your promises, stronger than the wooden podiums.
You have mastered their territories; in the east, you wield a mighty presence,
Your army extended to the west, ever powerful.
Your resolve is mightier than Homer’s quick wit,
Making hearts sway with clarity and sweetness.
And if they recall Alexander and his conquests,
Your era of triumph is even closer at hand.
With eighty thousand lions in the jungle, fierce and robust,
They possess claws sharp enough for battle, and for death as well.
When you dream, evil lies in slumber,
But when you anger, it awakens, fierce and provoked.
Your rule excels through undeniable evidence,
Shooting arrows of decision with precision.
Your legions sweep through fortresses and mountaintops,
The maidens subdued, both seasoned and untouched.
You emerged, Prince of the Believers, against foes,
With triumph that stirs envy and exhaustion.
Leading your troops and shielding your banner,
Women unsure of their fate and intent.
Ask the ages and the elements, and the masses: Did your judgment falter,
Or was your sword a striking force?
They filled the world with empty chatter, behind them,
A multitude of aides, heedless and deceitful.
It comes and goes like tides of the ocean,
As the seas push forward and retreat.
When you unsheathe the sword, its brilliance eclipsed,
Indeed, O harbinger of destiny, it is unparalleled.
You seized them, not as masters of their realm,
But as shepherds, exhausted and extended.
Each path you traverse meets the others,
Like clouds that converge across the sky.
Your people did not prepare in battle,
But instinctively gathered like raging beasts.
A time is set for them to confront,
As the wheel turns against the creeping clock.
Thus, humanity’s virtue lies in their morals,
And their affairs will dissolve when they diminish.
Eyes of war were bewildered at what was perceived,
Wondering what lions would deliver unto them.
They overdo their aim and boast of their shot,
Stunned by the leaders, while soldiers grew curious.
From the glory of nations, it should not be missed,
A sword serves honor or a refined command.
May nighttime shield us from misfortune,
As we seek to benefit from fate and victories.
A kingdom is worth its army in stature and image,
And the army is defined only by its sovereign.
O Children of Egypt, Lift the Laurel
O Children of Egypt, raise the laurel,
And honor the hero of India,
Fulfill your duties and acknowledge
The rights of individual scholarship.
In adversities and trials,
In grand sacrifices and efforts,
In wounds and tears,
In banishment from the cradle,
In the journey toward truth,
In the stage of representation,
Stand and greet him from afar,
From the sea and from the shore,
Cover the land with myrtle,
And blanket the sea with roses.
At the base of Rajput,
A statue wrought from glory,
A prophet akin to Confucius,
From that time of proximity in word and deed,
Much like the awaited Mahdi,
Resembling the prophets in safeguarding:
Of the truth and in asceticism.
He taught with the truth,
With patience and intention.
And the utmost east has responded
From the grave to the call.
He came for the ailing souls,
Healing them from malevolence.
He summoned Hindus and Muslims
To unity and to blossoming.
A sorcery of the might of the soul,
With the two swords kept in their sheath,
This authority within the spirit,
Strengthening the sway of lions.
With God’s favor and
Ease bestowed by happiness,
And luck that is granted
Only to the bearer of eternity.
Nobody is measured by years,
By victories or by armies,
Nor by lineage or wealth,
Nor by effort or toil,
But by a divine gift from the All-Mighty,
May He be glorified.
Salutations to you, Nile, O Ghandi,
This flower is from me,
An homage from the depths
Of the pyramids, Karnak, and the delta,
From the order of the valley
And from the wild offspring.
Salutations to the milk-producing sheep,
And to the one who embroidered the frost.
To the one who turned away from the salty,
And did not accept the sweetened.
To the traveler between
India and Sindh.
Salutation every time I pray,
Naked or in garment,
In the prison’s corner,
And in the chains of bondage.
Beware, O Ghandi,
And observe the wrappings of fate,
And what lies within the Lord’s paper,
Be the greatest in playing
Shatranj and Nard.
Encountering the geniuses,
A meeting from rival to rival.
And call forth your serpents;
The magician has arrived from India!
Do not be swayed by praise,
Nor be deceived by flattery,
This star does not yield
To the ambitions of critique.
And Hind returns to the nation,
From limit to limit.
The Birth of Guidance: A Radiance for Creation
Among the finest works of Ahmad Shawqi is the poem “The Birth of Guidance: A Radiance for Creation”:
The birth of guidance brings light to creation,
Where time’s mouth smiles in praise.
The soul and the celestial choir surround him,
With blessings for faith and life through him.
The throne glows, and the sacred enclosure flourishes,
And the end goal reigns at the majestic Lote tree.
Revelation flows like a spring of water,
The tablet and the pen showcase beauty.
O best to grace existence, a salutation
From the messengers who came to guide through you.
Through you, God announced to the heavens, and they adorned themselves,
And the earth, dressed in musk, washed clean.
On the day when the dawn sparkled upon time,
And its evenings glowed with Muhammad’s radiance.
The verses streamed forth, and wonders abounded,
As Gabriel brought them like a meal.
O you whose morals aspire to greatness,
Adored by those who delight in benevolence.
In your noble characteristics, you shined,
Captivating the hearts of the generous.
When you are charitable, you reach boundless limits,
And you perform acts beyond nature itself.
And when you forgive, you are both capable and wise,
No one should undermine your grace.
When you show mercy, you are a mother or a father,
These two are the true hearted in this world.
When you address the masses, the podium shakes,
Heartstrings wail with your every word.
And when you take a vow or offer one,
All your promises stand as a testament of loyalty.
May God Grant Prosperity to the People of Paris
From Ahmad Shawqi’s short poetic pieces:
May God grant prosperity to the people of Paris.
And I see intellect as the best blessing they possess,
Among flowers and splendor to unveil.
The earth yields a garden they crafted,
A paradise that enchants the minds,
Where the eye gathers what is scattered.
Whoever beholds it exclaims that they were deprived,
Yet through their enchantments, they have stolen it.
What do you see, generosity that entwined?
If the drinkers saw it, they couldn’t believe.
They fashioned it as they wish,
Surprising people with how it doesn’t speak.
The righteous feel the hand of God within,
While the ungrateful proclaim they have created it.