Beautiful Poems Describing the Beauty of Flowers
- As described by poet Mahmoud Darwish:
In depicting the almond blossom, neither the encyclopedia of flowers
nor the dictionary can assist me…
The words will lead me into the snares of eloquence,
where rhetoric wounds the meaning yet praises its injury,
like a masculine voice dictating feelings to the feminine
How can the almond blossom illuminate my language,
when I am merely an echo?
It is as delicate as a dewy laugh blossoming
on branches from the gentleness of morning dew…
It is as light as a white musical phrase…
and as ephemeral as a fleeting thought
that hovers above our fingertips
and we write it in vain…
It is as profound as a poem that cannot
be inscribed with letters.
To describe the almond blossom, I require visits to
the subconscious that guides me to names of emotions
hanging from the trees. What is this thing called?
What is the name of this essence in the poetry of nothingness?
I must break through gravity and words
to feel the lightness of the words as they turn
into a whispering specter, so I become it and it becomes me,
transparent and white,
neither a homeland nor exile; it is the words
but rather an infatuation with the whiteness in describing the almond blossom—
neither snow nor cotton—what is it in
its transcendence over things and names?
If the author succeeded in composing a passage to describe the almond blossom, the mist
would clear from the hills, and a complete people would proclaim:
This is it!
This is the essence of our national anthem!
- As written by poet Elia Abu Madi:
If you see a rose with dew dripping from it,
consider it a mysterious riddle whose secret you are unaware of.
Let your eyes be a hand, and let your touch be a gaze.
The red is not merely embers, and the white is not mere pearls.
Perhaps a soul like mine has rejected this harmful world,
ascending to the sky seeking a home beyond the stars.
May it live for a while in the free, liberated space,
as it weeps teardrops in the morning light.
Beautiful Poems about the Olive Tree
- As written by poet Mahmoud Darwish:
The olive tree neither weeps nor laughs; it is
the dignified lady of the slopes, sheltering with its shade
the trunk without shedding its leaves before a storm.
It stands as if sitting, and sits as if standing,
living as a sister to enduring familiarity and a neighbor to a time
that teaches it to store the luminous oil and to
forget the names of invaders, save for the Romans,
who coexisted with it and borrowed some branches
to weave crowns. They did not treat it as a captive of war
but as a respected grandmother, whose dignity causes swords to break.
In its modest silver presence,
it cloaks the color of expression, yet gazes at what
lies beyond description; it is neither green nor silver.
It embodies peace when peace requires a tint
that no one tells it, “You are beautiful,”
but they say: “You are noble and admirable.” And it
is the one that trains soldiers to lay down their rifles
and prepares them for nostalgia and humility: return to
your homes and light your lamps with my oil, yet
these soldiers, these new soldiers,
surround it with bulldozers and uproot it from the lineage
of the earth… they conquer our grandmother who turned
her branches into the earth and her roots into the sky.
She did not weep nor cry, but one of her
descendants, witnessing the execution, threw
a stone at a soldier and was martyred alongside her. When the
soldiers left victoriously, we buried him there, in the deep pit,
laying our grandmother to rest. And for some reason, we were
sure he would soon become an olive tree…
An olive tree, thorny… and green.
Beautiful Poetry about Farewell
- As expressed by poet Ghazi Al-Qusaibi:
Father! Will you not accompany us? I wish
you would join us… Oh Father,
a sigh escaped her lips,
resting on the wound… it did not leave.
A tear sparkled in her eye,
leaning on her cheek… it did not fall.
She reproached me with the growth of my doll,
which until then had not criticized.
Is this how you abandon us, Father,
for the bustle of work and the office?
You, oh sweetest of flowers… my oasis
through the scorching deserts of thirst,
since the dawn of separation darkened,
I have lived between the spider and the scorpion.
He laughs… if you knew how many laughs
spring forth from the heart of the weary sorrow,
he plays, despite the grief inside him
like the convulsions of death yet unbeaten.
He wishes that, were it not for his age,
he could weep for you when you left… do not go,
oh sweetest of flowers… my joy,
my green ecstasy… my star.
Father is still in the office,
sighing for the good and the best.
He makes a dream, the best of his dreams,
to make the children happy on the playground,
for Yara and her companions.
He is engrossed in work… so do not be angry.
- And poet Elia Abu Madi says:
The hour of departure has come, and it is time
for us to part; so to our next meeting, my friends,
if you cry, I too have cried from sorrow
until my tears almost drowned me.
When it was time to bid farewell, my lungs ignited
with a fire that I fear would consume me.
I still fear separation before it occurs,
so that I have become unable to separate.
On the day of parting, oh God, what cruelty in separation,
were it not for separation, my soul would not despise staying.
We left confused and silent, as if,
in horror, we feared to utter a word.
Our hearts trembled, and our eyes
could not restrain the tears.
Our glances intertwined, weak and trembling,
and we struggled for breath so it would not be lost.
Lovely Poems in Romance
- Written by poet Emara Al-Yemeni:
As for love, how noble it touches me,
even if I am the compassionate one.
I am that young man whom love has severed,
futilely resuming affection’s endeavors.
His patience’s steadfastness bloomed in his conscience,
revealing itself with the hidden grievance.
The tears betrayed their solemn vow, departing,
my secret an unwilling captive in declaration.
My eyelids prevented me, yet they justified her,
the face that permits the secrets of sleepy eyes.
O turner of my fate, away from blame,
while longing takes its flight without restraint.
Cease your giving; alas, how often you’ve distressed my heart.
A gazelle stirs my sighs in moments of remembrance,
longing for your beauty that has entranced me.
Submit to him, as he is the wrongdoer.
He reads my passions from the pages of his cheeks,
the joy that the realm of satisfaction grants,
while he frowns like one who has been scorned.
Regret had gifted me his reproach,
the connection drawing nearer through the façade of estrangement.
I am on guard against the informants’ gossip and my fears,
the vigilant observer and the assaults of envy.
Let the swaying forms delight me when they bow,
beyond the soft beauty of those replenished treasures.
Had it not been for the bends in the boughs,
where the branches’ beauty stands,
O companion in straying away from love,
what do you think of wisdom?
Seizing hope with an involuntary hand,
it denounces desires for disobedience.
My evening, and my heart is caught between helpless patience,
and dignity against a disgusting glance.
I have simplified the sorrows of speech to the grieving,
the family of the Messenger, lamenting tragedies.
So offer kindness through the tongue and strengthen it,
if the victory of Muhannad and Sinan is lost.
And make the narrative of the family of Al-Wasi,
an expression of mourning for time and despair.
Ummayah usurped the inheritance of the family of Muhammad,
stupidly raiding the disrespectful invaders.
They went against the rightful descendants of the caliphate,
facing evidence with falsehood.
Her aspirations did not agree to ride,
exposed hypocrisy and the tide of aggression.
They dwelled permanently in a prophetic rank,
that Abu Sufyan did not establish for them.
Until they claimed later that they had,
revenged disbelief in the belief.
Then Ziyad arrived, bringing forth evil,
leaving Yazid to decrease.
Warring with the Banu Harb, they established its market,
and the Banu Marwan imitated them.
I ache for those who are selfless,
showering the people with blessings and God’s assistance.