Poem: Your Torture, Daughter of the Sadats, is Easy
Your torment, Daughter of the Sadats, is but simple
And your father’s tyranny is fairness and justice.
So let them commit sins and seek my death and oppression,
And my suffering. For I have no weariness,
And I neither forget nor heal my enemies.
So my lords have pride and virtue,
They are the ones who have raised us to a place
Above the heights, surpassing the stars.
If they oppress us, we shall equalize their whims,
And if they exalt themselves, we shall humiliate.
How can I possess resolve when my body
Is seen to have faded into insignificance?
Oh, bird of the Arak, by the grace of my Lord,
Maybe you know where they have settled,
And you can free a lover from the imprisonment of his kin,
For he holds within his love both joy and sorrow.
They call me, while the hooves of death rush by.
Your place is unmatched and incomparable.
And they have shamed me by my mother’s name.
And I have colored everything they have bound or unbound.
Indeed, the tribulations of fate have diminished in my eyes,
And their kin mean little to me anymore.
In every battlefield, I have tales
That, once heard by heroes, make them bow down.
I have severed their necks, and of them I have captured.
And they remained astonished despite their great numbers.
I protected the women with the edge of my sword,
And my enemies fled out of fear and horror.
I stir up the dust while the horses run,
Heavy with warriors, who grow weary not.
And I return while they have already dispersed, light as feathers.
Puzzled by affliction, they cease to complain.
And I endure humiliation among folks
I tend to, even if their killing, they permit.
And I patiently await my beloved, even if he neglects me.
And I have not forsaken his love, nor do I forget my yearnings.
Perhaps time will grant me closeness again,
And after parting, the bitterness of living will find sweetness.
Poem: You Were Revived and Awakened by the Winding Gazelles
You were revived, and what stirred you are the wandering gazelles
That in the morning had become a breeze, then departed.
Longing overwhelmed me until it seemed as if
Within my chest, two embers ignited in longing.
And you, who concealed your love for a dark beauty,
Do reveal to me what you have kept hidden.
By my life, I have excused you if you would pardon me,
And the anguish that clouds your heart advises you.
Oh, interlocutor! How many days of battle have I witnessed
Wherein appeared the ghastly features of the fierce?
I have seen no living men withstand like us,
Nor have I met those whom we contend with.
If you wished, I would confront you, a clad warrior,
Upon bent knees, with weapons clashing and free.
We close in with our ranks or encounter a battalion
That directly engages us, or the herd runs frightened.
So when we met amidst the tumult, they stumbled
And the weapons retreated upon their backs.
And the soldiers hastened in another direction away from them,
As metal flows like camels amidst the flow of dust.
If they walked through the valleys, you would think them
Rivers, as they rushed through the recesses.
So I raised banners, under the shadows of which
Were men, the sons of fierce battles.
And we circled as the wheel revolves around its axis,
While swords danced upon the heads of the men.
Until a night came, grasping hold of affairs,
And the sons of Abs surged forth with skilled swords,
Removing heads and turning heads aside,
And every proud one seemed to his companions to shine.
To see in the darkness of night a revelation
To leave the women behind and become twisted.
And every weakling among them sheds his beard and faces.
Poem: This Fire of Abla, O My Companion
This is the fire of Abla, my companion,
It has shattered the darkness of night deeply.
It burns like the fire of yearning increasing in intensity,
Ignited by a white one that shakes like a branch.
When it bends with the bitter breeze,
And its breath veils the sweetness of the air.
So we have lingered in its comforting bliss,
For the lips of its youth are sweeter than honey,
Whenever I taste it, I perceive it as fire of hell.
The full moon steals its beauty, and it borrows,
The magic of its eyelids, like gazelles of the evening.
My love for her is a permanent desire,
And my torment stems from this lasting affection.
And I rely on whom, whenever my misery is intensified,
His support increases in my exaltation.
He is a lion among kings who bow to his name,
And I exalt him with veneration.
And when he marches, fate precedes him,
To the enemy’s end before the day he arrives.
Poem: The Eyelids of the Young Women Through Their Veils
The eyelids of young women through their veils
Sharpen more than the delicate white swords.
When stripped, the brave are humbled, and they become
Sights of suffering from the floods of tears.
May God grant my uncle a sip from the hand of death,
And may his hands be paralyzed after severing the fingers.
As similar to me is led to ruin by impossible hopes,
And my ambitions are tied to the lust for riches.
Indeed, Abla bid me farewell one day between them,
With a certainty that I would not return.
And she lamented, saying: “How will you be after us,
If you depart from us into the vast wilderness?”
By your truth, I did not seek solace in life,
And my desires have not diverted me from your love.
So be assured of my tenderness and goodwill,
And live delightedly below a fate devoid of bitterness.
I told her, O Abla, I am a traveler,
Even if the borders of separation stand before me.
We were created for this love long before our days,
Thus the justification for its denial cannot be heard.
O flag of the Saadi, will I return again?
And I look into your coordinates, blooming flowers.
And my eyes observe the hills and the valley,
And those that dwell at the roots of the fields.
And the land of the Sharb has gathered us in
And we graze in the vicinity of those meadows.
So, O breezes of the bay, by God, inform
Abla about my travel in which locations.
And O lightning, convey her greetings in the morning,
And the homes of my sanctuary and my resting places.
O calls of the murmuring streams! If I perish, then mourn
Upon my grave, between the roaming birds.
And lament for those who died unjustly and attained nothing
Except distance from loved ones and painful trauma.
And O horses, weep for a knight who used to face
The front lines of death amid peril.
He became distant in love and humiliation
And he bore heavy chains from the shackles of regrets.
And I shall not weep if my end is near,
But my yearning will flow, and the tears will fall.
And it is not a boast, the description of my brokenness and intensity.
And my name has become renowned in all gatherings.
By the truth of love, do not scold me and refrain
From blaming me since reproach does not heal.
How can I endure the patience from the one I adore
When the fire of passion blazes within my sides?
Poem: Stand at the Abode and Call to Beda
Stand at the abode and call to Beda,
Perhaps the dwelling will respond to the one who calls.
A home where the musk wafts from its land,
And the sandalwood and fragrant elements charm it.
A place of Abla that has become distant from you,
Indeed, it has taken you far away.
Why does your eye not tire of weeping?
Is it the lingering ailment in your eye or are your sorrows too profound?
O my friend, stop at the camels for a moment,
In Abla’s dwelling, questioning its melody.
How can you ask of a transient trace,
That the winds have carried away its ruins and remains?
O Abla, my heart has gone mad at your mention,
And I see my debts only resolved with your presence.
O Abla, if only you would weep for me in fervor,
Then perhaps your men will have already wept for their women.
O Abla, I am fierce in battle; a wolf,
If the strike should pierce my head, my spirit remains unbreakable.
And the rams approach each other to burn
In anger or to face what lies ahead.
And the valiant draws near to the valiant, as they spear
The mists with their differing stances.
Then there, I will pierce in war the horsemen,
Striking down their hearts and both of them.
And ask the noble ones; they will tell you of my vigor,
And my stance in battle when the clash arises.
I shall add fuel to the flames of my war,
And spur it until it churns with a resonance.
Poem: The Land of the Sharb and Its Soil Like Amber
The land of the Sharb has soil like amber,
And its breeze flows with musk and fragrance.
Its domes shelter radiant full moons,
With every enchanting woman, with alluring gaze.
O Abla, your love has seized our hearts,
Captivating our intellects, so do not abandon us.
O Abla, were it not for my sight landing upon you,
I would not have faced all hardships and challenges.
O Abla, how many dangers I encountered,
With a supporter, firm like sturdy towers.
So I reached her, and the sun shone high above,
While the people were between advancing and retreating.
They cried out; I called upon them, so they gathered,
And I approached that army also seeking for me.
So I pierced through so as not to be discovered and raised this,
With the witness of the unsheathed blades.
I sought their leader, I severed his artery,
And I killed of them every mighty warrior.
They left their covering amidst the weapons, defeated,
And fled across the expanse of barren desert.
And I raised the banners of humiliation upon them,
And divided their spoils among every brave fighter.
And I returned none sought my intention but
For a mention that lasts until the Day of Judgment.
Whoever lives strengthened by his own might
Will die in despised manner among the populace.
There is no doubt that for every precious life
Time must call for its demise. So invest your years in the noblest.