The Poetic Exploration of Identity and Valor

"The Poem of Horses, Night, and the Desert Knows Me"

In his renowned poem "The Horses, Night, and the Desert Knows Me," the esteemed poet Abu al-Tayyib al-Mutanabbi expresses profound sentiments of love, honor, and personal identity:

Ah, the heartbreak of those whose souls are fiery,

And those who see my state are filled with sorrow.

Why do I conceal a love that has consumed my body,

While nations claim affection for Sayf al-Dawlah?

If the love of his beauty unites us,

I wish we could share love in equal measure.

I visited him with swords of India sheathed,

And gazed upon him with swords stained with blood.

He was the most beautiful of all of God’s creations,

And the most admirable of the admirable qualities.

I thwarted the enemies who aimed for him,

In the folds of victory lay both grief and gain.

Fearful worry stood in for you, and you fashioned

A sense of awe that nothing can replicate.

You’ve burdened yourself with what does not bind you,

That no ocean or knowledge can conceal them.

Whenever I aimed for an army, it retreated in fear,

And my determination surpassed their trails.

Defeated in every confrontation,

But their retreat does not shame you one bit.

Have you not seen a sweet triumph beyond mere victory,

Where the white blades of India met in a handshake?

You are the fairest of people, but in my dealings,

In disputes, you are both the opponent and the judge.

I seek refuge in your sincere gaze,

To not mistake fat for someone whose flesh is mere swell.

What benefit is there to a worldly brother’s sight,

If light and darkness hold equal sway for him?

The gathering will know who commands our company,

That I am the best whom they walk in the path of.

I, who inspired the blind with my art,

And made the deaf hear my words.

I sleep soundly while my eyelids are unburdened,

While others stay awake because of my tales, engaging in disputes.

A fool, emboldened by ignorance, laughed at me,

Until fate struck him with insight and awareness.

If you see the fangs of a lion bared,

Do not think the lion is smiling.

The essence of my heart belongs to the one it yearns for,

I reached him atop a steed whose back is sacred.

His legs, swift as the wind, his hands, steadfast;

His actions fulfill what you wish from both hand and foot.

I pressed on through the throng until death’s surge met me,

The horses, the night, and the desert know my essence,

As does the sword, the spear, the parchment, and the pen.

I wandered in the wilderness, isolated,

Until even the hills and valleys marveled at my presence.

Oh, how hard it is to part from those we cherish,

For in their absence, everything fades into nothingness.

"The Poem of the Victims I’ve Slain as a Martyr"

In another poignant work, al-Mutanabbi reflects on loss and beauty in "How Many Victims As I Slain a Martyr":

How many slain, as I’ve met my own fate,

For the whiteness of the morning and the blush of cheeks,

And for the enchanting eyes, no eyes compare,

That have pierced the heart of the passionate lover?

What delight does youth provide on days flowing,

As I linger in places that breathe the scent of shrubs?

O, have you seen the shining moons,

Veiled in delicate coverings and ornaments?

With arrows that are but whispers before they pierce flesh,

They sip my tongue’s sweetness even sweeter than unity.

Every gentle one is weaker than the heart,

Where the heart is harsher than the hardest stone.

A being so divine seems imbued

With sweet flowers and aromatic wood.

Shadowed like the night or the being that lingers,

Gaunt and with unmatted tresses.

She bears musk from the curls of her hair,

While revealing her neck that is crowned in silk.

Between the beauty of Ahmad and the pretty eyes,

And the ripeness and the longing of the held shoulders.

This life of mine in your presence, it ensnares,

Remove from its torment, or increase its delights!

The one who knows of my pain is a hero,

Seated with silk that adorns the neck and vestment.

Everything filled with blood is forbidden,

Except for the daughter of the vine to slake my thirst.

Pour her a drink; I surrender my life for her eyes,

From gazelles and from my birth, the whole world.

With gray at my temples and weakness upon me,

And tears, resembling the witness of my love for you.

What day has brought me joy through your union,

To not fear three dismissals?

My abode in the land of palm trees is nothing,

Like the abode of the Messiah amongst the Jews.

My bed is a saddle of a horse; you will find,

My shirt embroidered with steel.

I am a creature of relevance with a strong lineage,

Crafted into its weave by the hands of David’s descendants.

Where is my virtue, if I settled for a slow life,

In the pain of being rushed by troubled waters?

My heart is heavy, and in search of sustenance,

My standing is long in pursuit while my sitting grows few.

Forever I traverse the lands, while I ascend,

In misfortunes, my determination rises high.

Perhaps I still hope for some goodness from the beloved,

Who is precious and full of bounties.

Be noble or die free,

Amidst the thrust of the swords and the clang of weapons.

For the spearheads direct towards the hidden,

And heal the bitterness that swells the chests of the envious.

Not as you have lived a life of fame,

And if you should die, die unbound.

Seek honor in the flames, and leave the cowardice,

Even if it lies in the gardens of eternity.

The coward is destined to perish, while the brave may seize,

What is left of a newborn’s crying.

If the victorious is deliberate, without acknowledgment,

It will be splendidly alive for the wise and the brave.

"The Poem Do Not Assume Your Quarter or Its Abandonment"

In the poem "Do Not Assume Your Quarter nor Its Abandonment," al-Mutanabbi captures the sorrow of separation:

Do not think of your quarter nor its remnants,

For the first sway from you is deadly.

Before this, souls have perished for you,

And the love for you has increased blame.

Though in it are still dwellers that charm us,

And there are herds of returning camels.

If that beloved were to move in the sky,

The sun would not favor his abode over another.

I love him, and affection is my heart’s journey,

Every kind of love is yearning and turmoil.

They are supported by rain, but they thirst for others,

And the clouds bring a deluge.

Alas, retreat from your clinging affection,

Whether settled or roaming, learn that well.

If musk and aromatic wood were mixed,

And you were not there, I would not have called it perfume.

I am the son of one whose lineage surpasses even the wayward,

And the offspring of an Israelite can be traced.

Only those remembered for their parents,

Feel shame as they recall their origins.

A boast for a powerful tribe, that in their pride exists,

And a noble line, of which I am proud.

And pridefully boast, for upon me, I wear it;

My pride shines, and I will not let it swallow me whole.

I am the one whom God has crafted from fate,

Raised in a land where struggles abound.

My worth holds greater than impoverished comments,

Among the common folk, as the stones of the valley.

To them, all actions are arrows,

As they shoot glances in disdain.

If fate offers me a lonesome path,

Then beyond waste lies other treasures.

Neither brethren nor ridder can I ever trail,

For misfortune has claimed a baneful clarity.

"The Poem of Injustice to Dhabbah"

Al-Mutanabbi critically addresses themes of injustice in "What the People did not Give to Dhabbah":

The people have not treated Dhabbah with fairness,

Nor has his mother received solace as they mourn.

They cast blame upon his father’s head;

The mother’s anguish shrouded in sorrow.

It is not for the deceased that we boast,

Nor for the desires that have been fulfilled in vain.

Rather, I speak these words of pity not out of love,

And yet, you still muster a response.

What does it matter to die without cause; it is simply a strike,

And what does it matter to face tomorrow, but a taint upon your integrity?

And what’s there to be criticized about the lineage of your mother,

When all are hurt by a bond unclaimed?

She who received whoever came; it didn’t condemn her,

For it is blood that primarily bears the blame.

And so it is that, without offense,

He yearns for more than for his lineage to be tarnished.

They blame Dhabbah’s tribe but not his heart,

When the heart longs for acceptance and obeys with pride.

If he only beheld the burden, it would relieve our spirits,

Ah, the heart trembles for what is honorable!

You gentle and noble character,

And the softest soul with a pernicious origin,

For in the basest ground shall you find the richest fertile.

What can you produce within depths of such passage?

This professional rewrite gives a modern, polished presentation to the poems while ensuring their original meanings and emotional nuances are preserved.