O You, Moon of the Valley
I call upon Layla, O Moon of the Valley,
And summon you amidst the darkness of night.
Send forth your melancholy in well-structured verses,
Or echo my chant from beyond the thicket.
Do not stifle the longing; the wounds stem from sorrow,
Nor hold back the tears, as they flow from sorrowful shores.
Recall how we met while in thirst,
And how the echoes conveyed sweet fulfillments.
And you, in the bower of fragrant herbs, were lost,
You moved from the gathering only to my call.
Remember the kiss, tied up in strands of hair,
Lost by the lips that wandered in your gentle locks.
And a kiss upon a soft and fragrant cheek,
More beautiful than roses under the dewy shade.
Recall the sight of the valley and our gathering,
By the stream like two little birds in the vale.
And the boughs lean toward us with tenderness and longing,
While the water flows gently beneath our feet.
Remember the blessings found here and there,
From the melody of songbirds in the orchards,
Remember the promise that time bore,
Did I soar with longing, or did I rush to our meeting?
And I received what I sought from wishes and hopes,
And I left, unable to count my joys and celebrations.
Wounded Yet Motionless
Wounded yet devoid of motion,
Yet stirs if it sees you,
And sways in delight when,
You lean, O branch of the sweet-smelling shrub.
Beauty has clothed you in,
The leaves of grace that adorned you,
And you took root among my innermost feelings,
While the heart, from its own blood, refreshed your being.
Sweet promises, when will you fulfill?
Will you fulfill them, or will you be
From every phrase, if you grant me
A kiss that I would tenderly accept?
Gained sweetness only from your tender touch,
If not, the affection of your eyes alone has won me.
They become the demise of those who have seen you,
And you became the longing of those who glimpsed you.
Ask the Goblets of Wine
Ask the wine goblets if they have touched her lips,
And inquire of the wine if it has brushed against her teeth.
It has lingered in the garden, giving me clear wine,
Not from the sludge nor the rose’s blush.
What harm if I made my cup’s rim your lip,
And you poured me pure wine from your essence?
Slender like the palm tree, the breeze wraps around her,
And it sways beneath the patterned gown.
Her talk is enchanting, though it is but a melody,
That flowed from the lips of David as he sang it.
The dove of the grove who coos with longing for her,
And who thus calls to her through the shadows of the night.
She throws at the night a long and beautiful glance,
And eyes, in confusion, are lost within their gaze.
And longing returns for dear ones, she weeps and calls,
Complaining sometimes of her own grievances.
O neighbor of the grove, the days of love have vanished,
Like a dream—Ah, the days of love, Ah!
Two Blossoms of the Tree of Affection
In the two blossoms of this tree of love,
Attributes unite like two lovers meeting,
But upon the delicate boughs,
Exchanging affection from every direction.
This one bends toward this,
And thus they turn to each other.
But at dawn’s light and in the brightness of day,
They must face their fate.
I swear they lived till they
No longer hoped, and thus time slipped away.
Who will provide me a market of life,
Where I may offer ‘take and give’?
To sell decades of melancholy
For just a moment of sweetness!
Your Weary Heart Has No Rest
Your weary heart is denied rest,
And it laments; your woodwind sighs for it.
Heart bewildered, tortured,
With swollen eyelids, sleepless from longing.
It delivers only glances that are just fleeting,
Remaining with you while you dispense more.
The paper hearts draw from your sighs,
And the stones you cast dissolve in leaden streams.
It converses with the stars, exhausting itself,
And spends the nights awake in contemplation.
Every songbird’s utterance mocks it,
Chanting melodies that echo deep within the boughs.
How long has your shadow grazed me,
Without ever being caught within its grasp?
Perhaps your absence is relieving it,
But perhaps your image frames its rescue.
Beauty is sworn by your likeness,
And you manifest so exquisitely as the essence of Joseph.
Your beauty is yearned for—a cherished wish,
A breathtaking desire that the heavens could witness.
And every delicate part that roams,
Desires to come forth to witness your beauty.
Your eyes deny the purity of my blood,
Is it so that your cheek contradicts it?
My witness has become rare since you revealed me,
So I gesture toward your cheek to testify.
I intend to bind your neck with vows,
But it refutes and grows aloof—my pride.
And I reached out to your form wishing to embrace it,
But it shrank back and effused distance.
A reason to earn your favor opens my heart,
What makes your waist constrict with reserve?
In love between you and me,
No informer could spoil it.
What makes the reproacher open for me,
The door to solace, while I shut its passage?
He proclaims you are on the verge of madness,
And I answer with an ardor that seems to worship you.
My Lord, my spirit is held tight in your hand,
As it has been lost since your touch!
The pulse of my heart beats for you,
And in my ribs, an altar for you.
By the shade of its pearls, I swear.
A declaration made that resembles the quality of rubies.
A promise graced with the sweetness of your lips,
That flows through the veins of love’s anecdote.
And your complexion draws envy from the moonlight,
If only it could glimpse you.
And a frame that quenches the bough’s thirst,
Becomes an emblem of affection.
There are no betrayals to you; I have not sought,
Yet it cools my heart!
You Come With Grace, Yes, and You Affect
You come with grace, involuntarily, and self-formed,
And I see in both your states a striking originality.
Act as you please, for beauty is no tyrant,
It ought not to be obeyed nor merely heard.
You can delight in the gossip of lovers,
And I must love the gazelle, seized by awe.
They said, “The gazelle surely listened to their whispers,”
And I declare, “The gazelle hears nothing of that, nor comprehends it.”
It is I who loves you by your essence in these moments,
And desire to marvel at your peacock elegance.
I remembered the days of passion where
I placed them before you as a lost hope.
And I was honest in my love; I do not mind,
Whether I grant or deny the world through you.
You, who flows from aversion to love pure,
And roam through those cheeks radiant invariably,
By Allah, even in the furnace, you bestowed upon me four,
Had they greeted Radwa with them, she would have broken apart!
Rein in the Heart’s Reins and Rest With It
Rein in the heart’s reins and find repose within,
From the patterns of sand and from the herd of its kind.
From the curves of maidens around their glamorous thickets,
Who sway with graceful hips over their mounds.
Among them are the fragile white ones of beauty,
In a glance of soft pearl and within their soft nature.
The narcissus blooms at its roots,
While the roses beckon to gather upon their stems,
Weigh the heavens as they rest on the dim earth,
And let their splendor amplify in beauty.
They walk in flocks, gentle as the sound,
Like the dove of safety in their company.
From every horizon, with no somnolence,
Eternities may awaken from their edges.
The eyelids receive the angels of Babel,
Marvels of enchantment on their western slopes.
O gazelle of the sands, I implore you against love,
And if your eyes hear in their call,
And don’t shed tears a single day, even if
You allowed your tears to flow abundantly.
These bees—like javelins—returned to hunt for him,
Left in the youthful eyes from their loftiness.
O lover of Aram, how love has shot you,
With a bow that brings no cure from its afflictions.
Young, and within its ribs, a partner,
Yet devoid of white hair and its troubles.
Frail by my side, fluttering any moment,
As I say to it, “Stop this striving of yours!”
The highlands do not bend from their depths,
Nor do the offspring of desire back down from their paths.
I bore within love what it never thought,
To carry love upon my heart.
Nothing lightens except for love and sublime ascents,
Or for the reverence of the advance in gatherings.
Four unite as one,
To be carried across generations’ paths.
Their train is like rain, upturning the earth,
And adds to the lushness, enhancing its blossom.
Had it not been for the greeting of creation,
The sun would have been overwhelmed by its admiration.
All of them are more jealous than Wa’il,
Of its sanctum and its terrain.
If they could, they would come to you,
With piled earth from its pole to its compass.
And not the protest of fate dims the desire,
From the stumble of the benefactor or its sin.
Nor is it virtuous within itself,
Who would deny blessings to his Lord.
What makes my people diverge among themselves,
In praise rightfully or in blame toward their kin?
It’s as if their conversations flow like threads,
Through the softest chains or pillars upholding them.
O my people, this is a time that has cast its chain,
And has grown proud of drawing it away.
If a binding came to it from above,
I fear it might come to its Master.
And this uproar from its kin,
Is the funeral of bondage toward its resting place.
Rise, O You Brilliant Stars
Rise, O you splendid stars,
Greet the beautiful and virtuous,
And lower your brow with reverence
For those purer than the sparkling dew.
Beauties of the lofty abodes and natural grace,
And the beauty of the prayer mats,
This is the status of all mothers,
Can you account for the worth of mothers,
Do not indulge in idle matters and don’t say,
“Only the unbroken fasts must suffice.”
And when you speak, do not become
A mockery concerning the virtue of the girl.
Recall her gentle origins, not
The shattered communities that are unraveled.
What have you faced from the promised fate
O brother, amid absurdities?
If you’ve not faced more than captivity,
Against the eastern principles, breaking.
Take with you the scripture and its virtues,
And the lifeways of the trustworthy ancients.
And return to the generations’ wisdom,
Follow the systems of life we hold dear.
This messenger of Allah has not overlooked
The rights of faithful women.
Knowledge was a law
For women who seek understanding.
Things that rise among her daughters
Are the vast oceans of knowledge.
Sakina fills the world with her words,
And mocks those who carry narratives.
She narrated the hadith and explained
The verses of the clear scripture.