Ode to the Power of Words
The Iraqi poet Nazik Al-Malaika expresses:
Why do we fear the words?
At times, they are soft hands like roses,
Cool with the fragrance that gently brushes our cheeks.
Sometimes, they are cups of refreshing nectar,
Sipped on by lips that long for relief during a hot summer.
…
Why do we fear the words?
Some of them are secret bells,
Their resonances revealing the passionate moments of our lives,
Fleeting yet bountiful like the dawn,
Droplets of feelings, love, and life.
So why do we fear the words?
…
We have sought refuge in silence,
Our muteness hiding secrets from our lips.
We assumed that words harbored some unseen monster,
Concealed by letters from the ears of time.
We have shackled the thirsty letters,
Refusing to let them unfold the night for us,
Providing a resting place, dripping with music, fragrance, and dreams,
And warm cups of solace.
…
Why do we fear the words?
They hold the door to a hidden passion that will unveil,
Our uncertain tomorrow. Let us lift the veil of silence.
They are a radiant window from which flows,
What we have concealed within our depths;
Our hopes, our yearnings.
When will the dreary silence discover
That we have returned to cherish the words?
…
And why do we fear the words,
Those friends who come to us
From the depths of our being, warm with rich letters?
They catch us off guard, in a whisper from our lips,
And serenade us with a torrent of thoughts,
From a life flourishing with fresh horizons,
That has remained dormant within us, unbeknownst to life.
Tomorrow, they will present before us,
The caring friends — the words.
So why don’t we embrace the words?
…
Why do we fear the words?
Some are whispers imbued with sweetness,
Illuminated characters radiating the warmth of wishes from lips.
Others carry joy, vibrant and entrancing,
Crossing the rosy waves of joy like intoxicated eyes.
These are poetic words, tender,
Reaching to touch our cheeks, where their echoes reside,
Rich in colors and the rustle of feelings,
And hidden passions and longings.
…
Why do we fear the words?
If their thorns once hurt us in the past,
They have wrapped their arms around our necks,
Pouring their sweet fragrance over our desires.
Even if their letters have stung us,
And turned away from us, without returning kindness,
Their promises lingered within our hold,
And soon will flood us with fragrance, roses, and life.
Oh, fill our cups with words!
…
In the morrow, we will build a nest of visions from the words,
Rising high where ivy intertwines with their letters.
We will dissolve poetry into their embellishments,
And nourish their blooms with words.
We will create a balcony for shy fragrances and roses,
With columns made of words,
And a cool passage that swims in a shaded rest,
Guarded by the words.
The Rain Song
The Iraqi poet Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab states:
Your eyes are like palm groves at dawn,
Or balconies from which the moon retreats.
When you smile, your eyes bloom like vines,
And the lights dance… like moons in a river,
Gently rocked by the oar during the twilight.
As if the stars pulse within their depths…
They drown in a mist of delicate sorrow,
Like the sea that unfolds its hands over the evening,
With the warmth of winter within and the chill of autumn,
Life and death, darkness and light;
Awakening my soul filled with a shiver of tears,
A wild ecstasy embracing the heavens,
Like the joy of a child if it fears the moon!
As if the arches of the clouds drink in the rain,
Drip by drip, dissolving into the rain…
Children laugh in the grape arbours,
And teased the birds into silence upon the trees,
The song of the rain…
Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
The evening yawns, while the clouds still shed
What weep from their heavy tears.
Like a child who dreams before sleeping
That his mother, who awoke a year ago,
Is again absent, and when he begs for answers,
They say: “She will return the day after tomorrow..”
She shall certainly return,
Even if the friends whisper that she rests,
In a grave on the hill, asleep in a tomb,
Scattering her dust and drinking the rain;
Like a sorrowful fisherman gathering nets
And cursing the waters and fate,
While singing as the moon fades.
Rain…
Rain…
Do you know the sorrow rain brings?
How the rain gutters weep when it pours?
How the solitary man feels lost therein?
Endlessly like blood that flows, like hunger,
Like love, like children, like the dead — it is rain!
And your eyes dance with mine amid the rain,
Across the waves of the gulf, the lightning sketches,
The shores of Iraq cradle stars and shellfish,
As if they awaken at dawn,
And night wraps them in its crimson cloak.
I shout to the gulf: “Oh Gulf,
Oh giver of pearls, shellfish, and doom!”
And the echo responds,
As if it were the wail:
“Oh Gulf,
Oh giver of shellfish and doom.”
I can nearly hear Iraq laden with thunder,
Stowing away lightning in valleys and mountains,
Until when the men release them,
No trace of Thamud is left behind in the valley.
I can almost hear the palms drinking the rain,
And hear the villages groan, and the emigrants
Struggling with oars and sails,
Facing the gulf storms and thundering, chanting:
“Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
And in Iraq, hunger endures
While the seasons of harvest spread their grains,
To satisfy crows and locusts,
And grind the stones and the grain,
As mills whirl amidst the fields… surrounded by people.
Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
And how we have shed tears the night we departed;
Then we hastily took shelter — fearing blame — in rain…
Rain…
Rain…
From the time we were young, the sky
Clouds in winter,
And the rain pours,
Year after year — when the earth grows green — we suffer hunger,
No year has passed where Iraq is not in hunger.
Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
In every drop of rain,
Red or yellow from the flower’s essence.
Each tear from the famished and naked,
And every drop spilled from the blood of the slaves,
Is a smile awaiting a new grin,
Or a dream blushing upon the lips of a newborn,
In a youthful world providing life!
Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
The earth of Iraq will bloom with rain…”
I shout to the gulf: “Oh Gulf..
Oh giver of pearls, shellfish, and doom!”
And the echo returns,
As if it were the wail:
“Oh Gulf,
Oh giver of shellfish and doom.”
And the gulf scatters its bountiful gifts
Upon the sands, frothy salt and shellfish,
And the remnants of a poor drowned soul,
From the emigrants who drank their fate
From the depths of the gulf and the depths,
And in Iraq, a thousand snakes drink sweet dew
From the flower nourished by the Euphrates.
And I hear the echo resound
Throughout the gulf:
“Rain…
Rain…
Rain…
In every drop of rain,
Red or yellow from the flower’s essence.
Each tear from the famished and naked,
And every drop spilled from the blood of the slaves,
Is a smile awaiting a new grin,
Or a dream blushing upon the lips of a newborn,
In a youthful world providing life.”
And the rain falls…
…
Our lives, we have dedicated to prayer,
So to whom shall we pray… other than the words?
Mirage
Badr Shakir Al-Sayyab also reflects:
Remnants of a caravan,
Illuminated by a fading star,
On the path of oblivion,
Soothing them with song.
Thirsty lips,
Vapor sketches within the mirage,
Tearing away the veil,
Upon a bewildered glance,
And a longing that dissolves boundaries.
…
Shadows on a cold surface,
Stirred by a powerful fist,
And pushed by a weeping melody
Into the abyss.
Shadows upon a ladder of fire,
Thrown into the fearsome void,
Pale remnants hanging,
As existence’s cloak falls
Let us proceed… and the mirage will remain
And the shadow of thirsty lips
Will wander behind the veil.
And the slow shadows walk
To the rhythm of your bare feet,
Into the darkness of the abyss,
Forgetting at the summit of the ladder,
Our passion… So do not dream
That we shall return!
Poem of Abu Alaa Al-Maari
The Iraqi poet Muhammad Mahdi Al-Jawahiri proclaims:
Stand at Al-Maari and wipe its cheek with dust,
And draw inspiration from the worldly circlet it has bestowed.
And learn from the world’s wisdom
From the wounds it shares, spilling out of its soul.
And ask about the renowned pit beside it,
Do you seek sustenance or yearn for a request?
O monument of the pride of graves, do not be grieved,
For if you were not a star in the heavens’ towers,
Every star wished to shine brightly,
That it glistens through your brilliance.