Poem of the Arabic Language
- The poet Abdul Rahim Ahmed Al-Saghir (Al-Masikh) states:
It has risen… the birth is unknown,
Language—in darkness—a beacon bright.
It carries a history; it bears no fatigue,
For the load is both new and authentic.
In it, hearts and minds embrace without limit,
While hearts and intellects dissolve.
The earth overflows with variety,
Unified, though the Nile faces drought.
It has risen; could it have set,
Earlier? The procession is continuous.
Or did we emerge from a tree,
Fruits ripened by recitation?
It seems that the beginning—having crossed,
My eyes—gives rise to longing and memories.
The spirit proclaims with its sign,
A challenging yet beautiful remembrance.
It is halted by ease, while the wind relaxes,
And it is released as clouds grow heavy.
It has risen, we have also shone or set,
And we faded; the difference is trivial.
We agree, and differ slightly,
In that the inclusive is encompassed.
It is said: we despaired and hope faded,
And it is said: we soared and thrived.
It is stated: we loved and rejoiced,
And it is said: we betrayed and inclined.
Yet we remain, a distinct being,
Our foundation comprises branches and roots.
It has not dried up—in winter—within our blood,
It flourishes in spring and flows.
Poem of the Arabic Language
- The poet Hafiz Ibrahim expresses:
I returned to myself, suspecting my possessions,
And I called upon my people, counting my life.
They accused me of sterility in youth; I wish I had,
For I did not despair at the words of my adversaries.
When I gave birth, and found no men
For my daughters, so I buried them.
I expanded the Book of God in expression and purpose,
And I was not constrained by verses or maxims.
How can I today be limited in describing a device
And arranging names of inventions?
I am the sea in which pearls lie hidden,
Did they not ask the diver about my shells?
Alas, my virtues fade and waste away,
And among you, and if the cure is rare, I am at fault.
Does it please you, from the west, a raven croaks,
Calling for my demise in the spring of my life?
Every day, I see in the papers a slipping,
Drawing me closer to the grave without delay.
And I hear the clamor of books in Egypt,
Thus I know that the loud voices are of my ilk.
Will my people abandon me, may God forgive them,
For a language that has no ties to narrators?
The influence of the foreign spread through it, just as
The venom of snakes flows into the Euphrates.
It came like a robe encompassing seventy patches,
Multicolored, varied in patterns.
To the assembly of authors a vibrant gathering,
I lay my hopes after laying my complaints.
Either life stirs the deceased in decay,
Building in those graves my remains.
Or a death that has no resurrection after it,
A death that, by my life, cannot be compared to another.
Poem O Prince, A Gift to the Language of Dhad
- The poet Khalil Mataran writes:
O Prince, who gifted the language of Dhad,
Treasures of knowledge and eloquence.
This agricultural dictionary has become
A hope realized in due time.
A task that can hardly be fulfilled
Without a gathering of many assistants.
May you remain a treasure, and your deeds
Sustain this homeland and elevate its status.
Poem of the Arabic Language
- The poet Hamad bin Khalifa Abu Shahab asserts:
Language of the Quran, O sun of guidance,
May the Almighty preserve you from the foe’s scheme.
Is there any language upon the earth,
That left its mark in the ages of time?
Just as you did in a world,
That knows nothing of you at all.
So he interacted with you and became knowledgeable,
With you as his teacher and muse.
And upon your corner he consolidated his knowledge,
Confirming his message after the subject.
You taught people that reasonable thought,
Is the intellect of man, not what corrupts.
And you established nouns and verbs without,
Leaving any letter free to dominate.
You emancipated those who regarded you,
Ignoring their ignorance and injuring their chains.
With you, we are the finest nation that,
Encapsulates thoughts and delivers the best.
Within you lies the greatest jewel
That a bard sings and eludes.
In a clear expression, the dawn obscured,
A plea against you, the morning star.
We introduced to people the path of guidance,
And with you, we selected the distinct expression.
We sowed with you an everlasting glory,
That challenges the heights forever.
Above the vastness of the sky its echoes,
And with you, history sang and shouted.
God chose you for us not in vain,
Nor did He select you for religion aimlessly.
You are of Adnan, a light and guidance,
You are from Qattan, a noble delegation.
A language through which God sent down,
Clear signs and guidance.
And without your sweet verses,
There would be no melody in the night’s journey.
The sounds of the horses mustering,
And the clash of the spires resounding.
I feared the traps of its enemies,
And today I fear not against those foes.
I only fear the traps of the ignorant,
Who nurture deviations and forsake guidance.
O guardians of authority, is there a listener,
When I call on this call?
This eloquence we sing with,
And revive with it a melody.
It is the spirit of Arabs who preserves it,
Preserving the spirit in the body.
If you desire a pure language,
That resurrects the past and brightens the future,
Then choose for it its guardians,
Those who sing its praises.
And bring forth words from its essence,
As bright as the pearl’s glow.
O vessel of religion and this world together,
By your measure, the Quran is preserved and recited.
In a clear Arabic tongue, we drink,
What the sweet Euphrates grants or the Bardaa.
Whenever the devil of desire leads you,
To ruin, the Sultan of guidance pulls you back.
Poem Do Not Say of My Language Mother of Languages
- The poet Wadi’ Aqil declares:
Do not say of my language, the mother of languages,
It frees itself from such daughters.
My language is the proudest mother and has not birthed
For its Arabic children, who are not honored.
It has not seen Dhad leave any trace,
In the languages of the West with their stuttering.
Indeed, my Lord created Dhad and has,
Granted it eternal virtues.
And as Ma’ad from the West surged over,
Our land with catastrophic conquests.
He claimed the home and became its lord,
Closing the avenues and exhausting life.
Dhad was attacked, yet it stood as a fort,
Unyielding in the face of every threat.
A fort that rebuffed his calamities so that,
He returned only with futile hopes.
O Arabs, beware of your fortress,
Your Lord from the evil of those calamities.
If ever a day wounds Dhad in its core,
That day will surely be your day of demise.
O Arabs, if the cities of the East constrict you,
From the horrors of adversities.
Be cautious not to lose Dhad, even if,
They roll you into the wilderness with it.
Poem Language of Dhad
- The poet Sabah Al-Hakim expresses:
I do not write merely to gain fame,
Nor do I write to ascend to the moon.
I write solely a language,
That has dwelled in my heart since childhood.
The language of Dhad, how beautiful it is,
I will sing it until I perish.
I shall roam in its fields as a lover,
Carving stone, and my letters will flourish.
I am indifferent to those who wound me,
But I view scratches as tender thoughts.
I challenge anyone who hinders me,
For he is someone of poor taste.
I am a soldier, and my sword is my pen,
With the letters of Dhad firmly lodged in it.
My pen will wage war,
Not fearing death, nor dreading any danger.
My heart, infatuated with you, my nation,
Is intoxicated by your love to the point of swoon.
In the pursuit of knowledge, I am never ashamed,
I seek wisdom from all people.
I am like a bird that sings my pain,
And my poem plays the melody’s tune.