Love
Love is a profound and beautiful emotion shared between two individuals. It is built upon loyalty, sacrifice, sincerity, and the commitment to remain steadfast, regardless of the distances that may come between them. Throughout history, many poets have celebrated love and romance in their verses. In this article, we present some of the most beautiful poetry dedicated to love.
Nizar Qabbani’s Poetry on Love
Thank you for your love,
It is my final miracle,
After the time for miracles has passed.
Thank you for your love,
For it taught me to read and write,
And enriched my vocabulary.
It erased all other women in a moment
And seized my finest memories.
Thank you from the depths of my heart,
Oh, you who emerged from the scriptures of worship and prayer.
Thank you for your waist, how it perfectly fits my dreams and imaginings,
And for your face, hidden like a bird among my notebooks and diaries.
Thank you for inhabiting my poems,
Thank you.
For you rest upon all my fingers,
Thank you for being in my life,
Thank you for your love,
For it brought me the blessing above all believers,
Chose me as a king,
Crowned me
And anointed me with jasmine water.
Thank you for your love,
For it honored me, educated me, and taught me the early sciences,
Bestowing upon me the happiness of paradise, above all others.
Thank you for the days spent wandering beneath the arches of clouds and the mournful rains of October,
For every hour of confusion and every hour of clarity,
Thank you for your eyes, journeying alone
To the islands of violets and nostalgia.
Thank you
For the years that have passed,
For they were the sweetest years.
Thank you for your love,
For it is one of the most precious and loyal friends,
Weeping on my chest when the sky cries.
Thank you for your love; it is a fan,
A peacock, mint, and water,
A pink cloud that happened to cross the equator.
And it is the surprise that has confounded the prophets.
Thank you for your hair, which captivates the world and steals all the palm groves.
Thank you for every minute bestowed upon me by your eyes in this frugal life.
Thank you for the hours of recklessness, challenge, and seizing the impossible.
Thank you for all the years of your love in its autumn and winter,
In its clouds and its daylight,
And for the contradictions of its skies.
Thank you for the times of weeping, and the long nights of vigil.
Thank you for the beautiful sorrow.
Qays bin Al-Mulawwah’s Poetry on Love
I remembered Layla and the bygone years,
And the days when we feared not the joys of life.
And on a day, like the shadow of a spear, I shortened its shadow
With Layla, who enchanted me, and I was not distracted.
In Thamdin, Layla’s fire shone with my friends
On that high ground as they urged the camels along.
Then said the keen observer of the people, “I saw a star,”
Appearing in the darkness of the night, alone and Yemeni.
I replied, “Nay, it is Layla’s fire that has ignited,”
In a heaven whose light has ascended for me.
Oh, would that the riders did not cut through the thicket,
And would that the thicket accompanied the riders for nights.
Oh, night! How many urgent desires I have,
If I come to you at night, I know not how to resolve them.
My friends, if you do not weep for me, I seek
A friend to weep when I shed my tears.
I do not pay court to youthful hearts except out of longing,
And I do not recite poems except as a remedy.
And perhaps God will unite the two distant souls,
After they assume with all certainty that they will never meet.
May God curse those who say, “We have found
A cure for love that lasts a lifetime.”
And my bond with Layla, who is locked in,
Returns to us with each evening that passes.
For the sons of Layla have grown, and the sons of her kin,
And Layla’s fetters remain in my heart as they are.
Whenever we gather in a place we enjoy,
They whisper about us until the place grows weary.
May God bless the neighbors of Layla, who have distanced themselves,
And settled far away where they occupied the fields.
And neither forgetfulness nor wealth has made me forget Layla,
Nor has repentance arisen until I embraced it.
And no women, adorned like the Bedouin maiden,
Can resemble Layla; then they bring her to me.
My friends, I swear by God, I do not possess what is destined
By God in Layla, nor what is decreed for me.
God willed her for another and afflicted me with her love,
So does He not test me with something besides Layla?
And inform them that Tayma is Layla’s abode,
If summer should cast its anchor.
These summer months have passed by us,
So what business has the distance with seeking Layla?
If only a whisper in Yamama, where his abode lies,
And my residence, above Hadramaut, would guide me.
And what is it to them, if God grants them luck,
In the fate of Layla, who has tangled my ties?
Though I was in love with Layla, it did not last,
With me, the ambiguous is constant until it was revealed.
Oh Lord, make this love between me and her,
Something sufficient, not too burdensome for me.
For no star has risen that can guide me,
And no dawn has stirred my memory of her.
And I did not travel a mile from Damascus without seeing,
Soheil, from the people of the Levant, appearing to me.
And no one is called to my mind by name,
But my tears fall upon this attire of mine.
And if the southern wind blows to her land at night,
I am for the wind, lying down to return.
If you deny Layla, and guard her lands,
Then let not your verses guard me.
For I bear witness before God that I love her,
This is what is with me, but what does she have for me?
God decides with fairness for her, against us,
And I ache for her and the passion swells for me.
And indeed, what I have aspired for, O mother of Malik,
Has turned my veins gray and stormed my heart.
I count the nights as one after another,
And I have lived a long time without counting nights.
And I emerge from among the houses in hopes that
I may speak of you alone at night.
I find myself, if I pray, facing toward her,
With my face, even though my prayer place is behind me.
And I have no faith other than this love,
And the vast longing has exhausted the healing physician.
I love from names what resembles her name,
Or is like it, or has a connection to it.
My friends, Layla is my greatest need and desire,
So who is mine besides Layla, or who is she to me?
By my life, you have caused me tears, O dove of the carnelian,
And you have brought tears to many eyes.
My friends, what do I hope for in life after I see
My needs are purchased and cannot be bought for me?
And Layla denies me, then claims that I
Have forgotten, while it is clear to everyone what is within me.
For I have not seen two like us, my friends in love,
Who are stronger amidst the enemies, despite being loving.
Two friends who do not hope for a meeting and do not see
Friends, except they long for a reunion.
And I am indeed shy to present my desire
For your connection or to present in wishes for me.
The people say that perhaps Majnun is roaming,
Seeking solace; I said, “How can I with what is in me?”
Al-Mutanabbi’s Poetry on Love
And I was not among those who allow love into their hearts,
But whoever gazes upon your eyelids falls in love.
Is it your lure from me that your love is deadly,
And that whatever you command, the heart will obey?
Your heart has my affection for as long as it lives,
Even if you die, my echo will follow you in the grave.
You are my paradise and my torment;
How bitter you are in my heart, yet how sweet.
And I am astonished by the death of lovers in love,
But the survival of those who love is indeed strange.
Love has seeped into my heart for you,
Like the blood of life into my veins.