Poem: My Beloved and the Rain
I fear the world may rain while you’re not by my side,
Since you left, a storm of sorrow lingers within me.
Winter used to wrap me in its embrace,
Shielding me from cold and any sign of weariness.
The wind howled outside my window,
And you whispered, “Hold on to my hair.”
Now, as I sit here, the rain lashes against me
On my arms, my face, my back.
Who will defend me… O traveler,
Like a dove, caught between sight and perception?
How can I erase you from the pages of my memory,
When you are etched in my heart like an engraving in stone?
I love you, O you who dwell in my blood,
Whether you are in China or on the moon.
In you resides an essence of the unknown,
And in you, a reflection of history and destiny.
Poem: Words
He hears me as he dances with me,
With words unlike any I possess.
He lifts me gently, planting me among the clouds,
And the black rain descends in showers from my eyes.
He carries me away to an evening adorned with rose-colored terraces,
And I am like a child in his hands, a feather caught by the breeze.
He gifts me sunlight, blesses me with summer, and a flock of sparrows,
And tells me that I am his treasure, worth thousands of stars,
And that I am the most beautiful of all the paintings he has ever seen.
He reveals to me things that leave me dizzy,
Forgetting the ballroom and the steps.
Words reshape my history, transforming me into a woman in an instant,
Building a palace from illusions, where I dwell only in moments.
And I return to my table, with nothing but your words,
Words unlike any others, with nothing but your words.
Poem: Challenges
I challenge
Those who preceded me to your eyes, my lady,
Carrying the sun in their palms
And jasmine necklaces.
I dare all those I have met,
The madmen and the lost ones adrift in the ocean of longing,
To love you with my style, my whimsy, and my madness.
I urge them all
To write you a letter of love,
As heartfelt as my own letters of passion
Or to present you—with their multitude—
With letters echoing my words and phrases.
I challenge you to remember
A man among those you have loved,
Empty your summer into your eyes… and the turquoise of the seas.
I challenge the bravest of knights, O my lady,
And the guns of the tribe.
I challenge those who have loved you and those you have loved,
Since your birth… until you grew tall like an Iraqi palm.
I dare them all
To be but a tiny drop in my ocean…
Or to extinguish their lifetimes,
As I extinguished my own within your eyes.
I challenge you… to find
A lover like me…
And a golden era, like my time.
So go, wherever you wish… travel far,
Laugh,
Cry,
Starve,
For I know you will not find
A place to rest like my embrace…
Poem: To a Man
When will you know how deeply I adore you, O man,
I would trade the world and all in it for you.
O you who dared in my love to conquer cities,
Whole and untouched, I will proceed in defiance.
If you desire the sea, I shall pour it from my eyes,
Or if you seek the sun, I will cast it in your hands.
I love you above the clouds; I inscribe it,
And to the birds and the trees, I narrate it.
I love you above water; I carve it,
And to the clusters and the cups, I pour it.
I love you like a sword that spills my blood,
O tale that I know not how to name.
I love you, try to assist me,
For the one who begins the tragedy must conclude it.
And the one who opens the doors must close them.
And the one who ignites the flames must extinguish them.
O you who smoke in silence, leaving me,
In the sea, I lift my anchor and cast it.
Do you not see me lost in the sea of love,
While the waves gnaw at my hopes and cast them away?
Descend a little from my lashes, O man,
For it continues to kill my dreams and revive them.
Cease playing the role of the lover with me,
Selecting words you do not truly mean.
How many letters did you fabricate to send,
And how much joy did you bring with flowers you would gift?
How often did you leave on a promise that has no existence,
And how often did I dream of dresses I would buy?
How many times did I wish you would ask me to dance,
And perplexed was I where to place my arms?
Return to me, for the earth has paused,
As if the earth has fled from its seconds.
Return, for after you there are no contracts to hang,
Nor did I catch your fragrant essence in its vessels.
For whom is my beauty? For whom is the silk shawl? For whom?
For the braids that I have nurtured for years?
Return as you are, whether in clarity or rain,
For what is my life if not with you in it?
Poem: Your Eyes
Your eyes are like rivers of sorrow,
Two rivers of music that carried me beyond time.
A river of music that got lost, my lady, and then lost me.
The black tears fall upon them, a melody of despair.
Your eyes desire me, with wine in the tenth cup,
And I sit burning in my chair, flames consuming me.
Should I say I love you, my moon? If only it were possible.
For all I own in this world are your eyes and my sorrows.
My lips at the harbor weep as they tear apart upon the estuaries,
And my yellow fate shatters me,
Crushing my faith in my chest.
Shall I travel for you, my nightly muse?
O Shadow of God on my eyelashes,
O my green summer, O my sun,
O the most beautiful of colors!
Shall I depart from you when our tale is sweeter than the return of spring?
Sweeter than the gardenia flower in the darkness of Spanish hair.
O my one true love, do not weep; for your tears etch my soul.
For all I own in this world are your eyes and my sorrows.
Should I say I love you, my moon? If only it were possible.
For I am a lost soul, unaware of my place in the world.
My path forsakes me, it obliterates me,
My name! It erases me—my address,
My history! What is my history if I am forgotten among forgetfulness?
I am an anchor that does not harbor, a wound in the features of humanity.
What shall I give you? Answer me!
My anxiety? My delusions? My frustrations?
What can I offer you but a fate that dances in the palm of Satan?
I love you a thousand times—remain away from my fire and my smoke,
For all I own in this world are your eyes and my sorrows.
The Damascus Poem
This is Damascus, and this is the cup and the wine,
I have loved, and some love can be lethal.
I am the Damascene; if you dissect my body,
You will find clusters and apples flow from me.
If you open my veins with your knife,
You will hear echoes of those who have departed in my blood.
The cultivation of the heart heals some who love,
And what does my heart have—if you love aches?
The minarets of Sham weep as they embrace me,
And like the trees, the minarets have souls.
Jasmine has rights in our dwellings,
And the house cat naps where it finds peace.
The coffee grinder is part of our childhood,
How can I forget? The aroma of cardamom lingers.
This is the place of “Abu al-Mu’taz,” awaiting,
And “Fayza’s” face is sweet and radiant.
Here are my roots, here is my heart, here is my language,
How can I express? Is there clarity in love?
How many Damascenes sold their bracelets,
Yet I flirt with her, and poetry is my key.
I came, O willow tree, to apologize,
Will Haifa and Waddah ever forgive?
Fifty years, and my pieces lie scattered,
Above the ocean, and there is no lantern in the horizon.
Raging seas tossed me without shores,
And demons and phantoms chased me.
Do I fight ugliness in my poetry and my literature?
Until the flowers bloom and ignite?
What has happened to our Arabness, looking like a widow?
Is there no joy in the pages of history?
What will remain of poetry’s authenticity,
If dealt by imposters and flatterers?
How would we write, with locks upon our mouths,
When every second brings you a butcher?
I carried my poetry on my back; it exhausted me,
What remains of poetry when it finds rest?
Poem: I Love You
I love you until my extinguishment is complete,
With eyes as expansive as the sky.
Until I fade, vein by vein,
In the depths of a chestnut envelop.
Until I feel you are part of me,
And part of my assumptions and my blood.
I love you in a stupor that does not awaken,
I am a thirst that defies satiation.
I am a crease in the folds of a shirt,
Having recognized my pride in its motions.
I am—by the mercy of your eyes—you are everything,
O spring of springs, the gift of gifts.
I love you; do not ask me for evidence,
I am wounded by the suns in my affirmations.
If I love you, myself loves you,
For we are the melody and its echo.