Poem of Reproach and Threat
Authored by Abdullah Al-Bardouni:
Why do I endure hunger while you feast?
The hunger implores me to inquire of you,
As I cultivate my field, only for you to reap; will you not
Savor from my sweat, your sickle in hand?
Why? While you cradle treasures within your grasp;
Extending your hand toward my meager portion,
Feeding my hunger while pretending to be virtuous;
Can a thief ever become a king?
Why do you prevail over my misery?
Answer my question, even if it shames you,
If you remain silent, the silence of the drowned
Resonates… echoing your deeds!
Why do you trample my wounded insides,
Where tenderness once guided you?
And my tears; they nourished your nectar.
Do you recall, “Oh scoundrel”, how you mistreated me?
What ignorance you have regarding fate,
Tomorrow, you will recognize who I am,
As nobility will strip you of your nobility.
For within my ribs, within my blood, is anger,
If it rages, it will extinguish your flame.
Tomorrow, memories will curse you,
Your past will condemn your future.
Your submissive end will mock your beginnings,
And sin will question: “Where is the sinner?”
And how did it all conclude? What path was taken?
Tomorrow, do not say: “I repented”; do not apologize.
Regret dawns here with your hopes,
And do not ask: “Where is my tomorrow?”
For you did not anchor your hands to the stars.
Tomorrow, I will not applaud the march of darkness;
I will cry out: “Oh dawn, how beautiful you are!”
Reproach of a Martyr
Authored by Abdulaziz Jawda:
From the moment of my demise,
From the hoarseness of my voice,
From the prolongation of my torment,
From the horror of my reproach,
I am the blood of a martyr,
Clad in the garments of festivity,
And my crimson essence,
The rose of my homeland.
I burn my papers,
As I scatter my words.
I am a surge of longing,
For Salahuddin,
For Sheikh Yasin,
And for the land of Jenin,
From the scent of the dear,
In the wound of my beloved,
And with companions of struggle,
And comrades in arms,
His blood, fragrant,
Killed joy.
Oh field of wounds,
In the hearts of its sons,
And the departure of its father,
And the greying of its brother.
For vengeance,
Where are the revolutionaries?
The virtuous son,
Who will erase the shame?
The oracle spoke:
The land fears,
Whom will it fear?
The oracle spoke:
A war of attrition,
Against the enemies,
The oracle spoke:
Among the sons;
The land narrows,
The life of hardship
Has spared neither enemy,
Nor friend.
Behind the wires,
There is nothing left but you,
The path is long,
And the provisions are few.
Despair is mountains;
The children have perished,
Red lines
And green lines;
And brown Indians,
In the field of battle,
For power,
For money,
And the advocates of struggle,
Are merely propaganda horns,
Half-men,
I squandered my life,
Behind the folklore,
A hope that has faded,
Behind the doors.
What will unfold,
The ‘Masrour’ will emerge
With a sword in hand,
To slay the dream,
On a summer night.
Self-Reproach Poem
Composed by Muhammad Mahdi Al-Jawahiri:
I reproached myself, yet have no one to rebuke,
Upon a time that has transformed and twisted.
Should I hold the fate accountable for what it has bestowed,
While we are solely entitled to what we have chosen?!
It appears as if the one who brings forth grievances,
Is not the one who introduced goodness!
And what is time if not a brother to a dilemma,
Watching over a lofty peak with wavering confidence?
Recording the battles of existence,
Much like notes inscribed in a ledger.
What reason have I to confront my days if,
I clutch the scorpion’s stinger?!
And why do the nights, in their allure,
Impose upon me the dangers of the vessel?
By my own fangs, before the teeth of time,
And by its claws before my own,
I have not trembled,
I have not hesitated in preserving what was mine!
A construction built by laborious efforts,
And a mother’s fond vigil.
And the weighty lessons have adorned it,
With a shade of admirable decorum.
I rushed to it, but I dismantled it,
As if I held no claim to it!
My hands aided the hands of misfortune,
And the beverage of my heart became enslaved.
Now I find knowledge, with unwavering conviction,
That I am merely a player in life’s arena!
That existence merely collects its dues of death,
And dawn and dusk are siblings!
And I, as much as I endured,
In the confrontations of harshness that befell me,
I can’t help but feel the temptations hunting me,
And I could see an escape, yet did not flee!
Imaginations flared, claiming that
Divine grace is the pastures of my being,
And that betrayal is only for the unworthy,
And that transformation is akin to the fox;
And that there is no profit in acts of wickedness,
To balance with that of disgrace.
As I succumbed, bowing to its ominous decree,
I settled my soul, following her desires,
Upon coarse fare, traversing rough paths.
The sly, daring one ventured that those who invade,
Shall rule, while the timid shall lose!
And I emptied it of all deception,
And in a mold of gold,
Chased by the whispers of the fragrance
In a vibrant home, lush with bloom,
Praised as commendable creations,
To be called the father of virtuous morals.
Reproach from the Grave
Written by Farouk Gowida:
Oh distant apparition,
Within my heart, there lies a hint of reproach.
I have bid farewell to my days, and youth has bid me adieu,
Nothing of my existence remains, save for specks of earth.
And thus, oh my world, I dwell alone, unable to rest,
Silence, the melodies I rend here, amidst the darkness.
I possess nothing, no companion… nor book,
Only sorrow and depression linger within my essence.
Today, I have become one with the dust,
Yet, still I yearn for reproach…
I bestowed upon you the love that quenches life’s thirst,
Granted you desires from a dwindling life in its prime.
You once told me:
“I shall remain a symbol of loyalty;
Even when life fades, dear,
The heavens shall reunite us.”
Yet you departed for the skies one day,
And crafted a palace of love’s shadows,
In the heart of the wilderness.
Weaving from the silence,
Beautiful melodies,
Writing from the lines of passion,
Long verses that enthrall.
I invited birds to my palace,
Gathering scents from the flowers’ lids,
Adorning the palace’s ground,
In garments of hope.
I constructed walls of longing,
Eager for kisses,
And planted around the palace, jasmine blooms,
For you were always enamored with jasmine.
I gathered all the lovers,
To learn from me the essence of fidelity,
And awaited our reunion…
I glimpsed your silhouette from afar,
Yearning for a new love,
And heard whispers of passion,
Flowing amidst the drums’ resonance…
Why have you betrayed, oh my world?!
I offered you love sufficient for decades,
While my days were caressed by nostalgia…
What can I utter?
What can I say when my giant love within my heart surges?
It has transformed into a melody, echoing the yearnings in a world of graves.
In this life, oh my world, I dreamed of reunion,
And built a palace in the heavens,
This palace, oh my dearest, remains the grandest of forts.
For your affection in this life is but vanity upon vanity…
How insignificant is this world, and how foolish is life!
For love in this world resembles the garments of the impoverished.
When you ascend to the heavens,
You will discover life was but wasted time amidst the fog…
You shall see that people have become like wolves,
You shall observe that mankind has lost itself in the maze of deceit…
You shall note that the Earth is drifting towards oblivion,
You shall witness the specters of morality,
Scattered in the expanse…
And if you rise to the sky…
You will see the entire universe reflected in our sorrow,
And you shall witness Earth’s face in our grievances…
As for me,
I dwell alone in the heavens,
Where loyalty resides,
While Earth yearns for fidelity.
How beautiful are the days in the realm of clouds,
Where there is no treachery, no deceit, and no wolves.