The Night Poem by Poet Yasser Al-Atrash
As night descends, the barricades of the heart shed their fears.
Breath flows freely from the chest,
And dreams sprout like herbs upon the pillow of time’s poverty.
In the night, sorrow crosses our paths,
And sadness creeps into our homes.
Words shake off their dust from their wings,
And rest upon the whiteness of silence,
In the river that flows between reality and speech.
At night, darkness takes its own life,
And objects move with an innocent step.
Everything sleeps… yet nothing truly rests.
In the night, hearts cleanse themselves with the waters of awakening,
And pulse forth… may peace be upon humanity.
Under the night sky, streets become fields of longing,
As yearning uproots maps from the eyes of lavender.
The night is a window overlooking the dew,
A phase of expanse… and a massacre of doves.
The night is the hat of the stranger, and the step of the blind; it is another direction towards death,
Or perhaps a final demise.
The night carries the wings of the destitute,
And the night is my voice when silence envelops me,
It is my face,
When my country crucifies me— a fighter— upon the marble.
The night,
That blackness planted in nothingness,
This magic lamp, and the strange body.
The night… this secret cloak,
This transition from the distant to the near.
The night… this spiritual street,
Traversed by prayers,
And the shadow of her eyes that vigil at the glass filled with spirit.
Until it becomes intoxicated with jasmine.
The night… a massacre of nostalgia,
And I, my beloved, am a cry that nearly illuminates,
If only a voice would touch it.
Yet the rifles do not adore humanity… except in silence.
And I, my beloved, on the night of birth,
Traverse through the holes of wishes… into pain.
Snow… and the papers of eyes on the white snow, lifeless.
Who among us hunts the dreams of the young?
And who draws another’s face upon your eyes?
Who distorts the blood of the homeland in the veins?
Is it the night?
Or are those we love a night that travels between us so we do not shine?
Or do we despise our hunger for the night,
As it closes its banks on torturous appointments… and slows down… not arriving?
The night is an innocent accused,
And the night is a child with no mother or homeland,
Traveling to return to traveling.
The night… a heart made of rain,
We rest upon it; yet it does not sleep.
The night… all night,
Calls out, “May peace be upon humanity.”
The Poem “Me and the Night” by Poet Sabah Al-Hakim
Me and the night, oh my life,
I will walk, and the darkness will guide my path,
Between the past and the forthcoming,
I will kneel over my sighs.
And the tears upon my cheek,
Let the night drift in sadness,
As I embrace your engraved essence,
Like light within my heart.
I appeal to your eyelashes,
While your shade dwells within my heart’s expanse.
I fear for you from my whispers,
And from my very self,
And from the bursts of my yearning,
And the rivers of longing… let it flee.
I fear for you from my dread,
And the sorrow in my heart.
Do you not listen, my beloved?
Even if time passes with ease?
Are you unaware? My yearnings converse with you,
And the melodies of love… oh, how I long.
To your eyes I direct my wounded heart,
Did you not hear the wails of my soul in my words?
Did you not read my laments,
With the nobility of love that encompasses you?
With it, my whispers,
And the eye of longing protects you,
And my pulse.
Did not longing tell you about my nights,
And the shade of love resting upon my chest?
Me and the night, my moon,
By your light I seek guidance,
Your essence fills my eyelids,
So I shall not forget you, my life,
Nor will I forget
The soft whisper from your lips…
And even if love is a facade,
I shall embrace it, nurture it, and water it with dreams of my devotion.
And at its side, I will gently fall asleep,
And in my waking moments…
I will serenade you.
I am entranced, while longing captivates me,
I fear for you.
I fear for you from my infatuation,
And from my passion to your hands,
To your eyes,
I fear for you.
Midnight Poem: An Empty Island by Writer Ghada Al-Samman
I met the ghoul in Paris.
We loitered after midnight.
He swore to me that he loves birds, children, stars, and the guitar,
And he has never eaten a child as mothers claim to frighten the little ones.
He cried because they flee to the opposite sidewalk when he passes.
I encountered the phoenix in Paris.
We loitered after midnight.
She said she has not truly emerged from her ashes,
For she was never burned,
And has yet to find a love that ignites her.
I bid farewell to the ghoul and the phoenix, and searched for the loyal vinegar…
And I still linger long after midnight
In search of it,
And midnight remains an empty island.
The Night Poem by Poet Abdul Salam Zreik
Night, a heap of memories,
Our rendezvous lost its way,
And the eyelid cries: Here I am,
I am drowning.
And longing plays our melody,
Groaning in weakness and despair.
The breast is a blaze of memories,
Running across the desert of confusion,
From a sip of aged sorrow in its brother.
They drink together and become intoxicated.
Oh, you two! What have I done to extinguish the stars within me?
When I planted your lives amongst those clouds!
And you cavort and demand
Coolness of reunion from time, yet silence answers.
A goblet of gold and fragrance
In every direction and moment.
A night painted with silence,
Flowing and screaming in madness.
You are the distance in your love…
Yet you are the closest that can be.
A night that returns with arrogance,
While silence delves into the depths of existence.
There is nothing but wishes without lips or restraints.
From the Poem “Night in the Countryside” by Poet Mohammed Al-Sanousi
The night in the countryside differs from the night in the cities;
So open your arms to the countryside, and embrace.
Receive the night; it is a king,
A spacious angel that lures the eye into slumber,
Like a philosopher, perplexed in wonder
At what he sees in people’s lives of dirt.
Or a genius poet, immersed in thought,
In the whirlpool of inspiration, unaware of time.
Or a thought in a conscience, now separated,
With its purity and virtues, free from grievances.
Or a lover, drowned in the beauty of a enchanting one,
Not concerned with anything that was or will be.
Silence lifts spirits into a horizon
Of stillness, rich with beauty,
Bestowing calmness from its softness,
It illuminates sensations within the body.
And in its meanings and forms,
The spirit of the heavens meets the body of the earth in union.
The night in the countryside is a night with coats,
And filled with the spirit of love’s beauty.