Short Love Poetry Verses
Remembering Layla and the Lost Years
I recalled Layla and the bygone years,
and the days when we feared not to indulge in recreation.
One day, like the shadow of a spear, I shortened its shadow
with Layla, and I was not oblivious.
In Thamdin, Layla’s fire glowed along with my companions,
in that lush area, the camels were slow to approach.
The astute observer of the people said, “I spotted a star”
that appeared alone in the darkness of the night, a Yemeni glance.
I replied, “Nay, it is a fire of Layla that has ignited,”
its light ascended and appeared to me.
Oh, how I wish the caravan had not crossed the lush terrain,
and that the terrain had accompanied the caravan for many nights.
Oh, night, how many urgent needs I have
when I come to you at night, not knowing what they are.
And Indeed God unites the separated ones afterward
And indeed God unites the separated ones afterward
who believe with all their hearts that they will never meet.
God curse those who say we have found
the remedy for love throughout the ages.
My pledge with Layla, she of the fortified nature,
easily responds to us in the evenings.
So, Layla’s sons flourished, and the Sons of her son flourished,
while Layla’s attachments remain in my heart as they are.
If we sat in a gathering we cherished,
they would whisper among us until the place tired me.
May God bless the neighbors of Layla who have drifted far
with them the separations where we occupied the gathering.
Nor has longing for Layla been forgotten, neither from need nor wealth,
nor has repentance occurred until I embraced the memories.
And no woman will paint me like Layla,
to resemble her, they showed her to me.
Oh, would that my poetry reflects upon Layla and my afflictions
Oh, would that my poetry reflects upon Layla and my afflictions
and how there is no return for my youthful days after the gray settles.
Oh, you whispers about Layla, do you not see
to whom you whisper, or with whom do you conspire?
Even if the beloved ones departed, O Mother of Malik,
the love in my heart has not left.
O Lord, since you have made Layla my desire,
measure by her eyes as you have measured for me.
Otherwise, make her and her kin hateful to me,
for I have encountered the pains related to Layla.
For Layla can kill a man,
and though I face despair concerning her.
My friends, if they deny Layla, bring closer
to me the coffin and the shrouds, and seek pardon for me.
If I die from the ailment of yearning, then tell
her resembling the sunlight: Peace be upon me.
They say Layla in Iraq is ill
They say Layla in Iraq is ill,
so why do you not show concern, you are her friend.
May God bless the sick in Iraq, for I indeed
am empathetic towards all the sick in Iraq.
If Layla is indeed sick in Iraq,
then I am drowned in the sea of calamities.
I wander through the regions and its expanse,
and have no way to reach Layla by dawn.
It is as if my heart is in turmoil, tormented
by a spark, and within it, a blazing fire.
Oh, would that the prime of youth be renewed
Oh, would that the prime of youth be renewed,
and that the years grow back, O Buthaina, once more.
May that dwelling place of Lubna be revived,
where it settled and the clouds’ moistness lies.
In every case, whether it approaches or retreats,
if it draws near to us, then the closeness would increase.
Neither despair can console me, nor can closeness be of aid,
and Lubna is sparing, hardly giving.
As if I am from Lubna, the awake and yearning one,
still holding on, while men waver.
Lubna shot an arrow into my heart,
and her arrow is a hunt for my heart.
Everything that brings me sorrow, I have known its location,
and my heart is an ardent lover of Lubna as long as I live.
And someone might say, “He has died, or he is dead,”
and for the soul, there is a release, a return at last.
I try to heal my soul from the remnants of longing,
on the brink of coming back as the returning ones do.
My soul clings to its soul even before our creation
My soul clings to its soul even before our creation,
and after we were infant-like and cradled together.
And it grew as we grew, and became abundant,
so that if we died, we would not break the bond.
However, it remains intact despite every event,
and our visitor in the darkness of the grave is its dwelling.
The bubbles of water are almost scratching her skin
when she bathes in the water from the softness of her skin.
And I long for the scent of her garment,
as Idris longed for the Paradise of eternity.
And were she to dress in a robe of pure roses,
it would scratch her skin and stain it with the petals.