Poem on Love
The renowned poet Al-Mutanabbi expresses in his love poetry:
Longing upon longing, and one like me suffers from it,
With an increase in my yearning and tears streaming down.
The effort of love is to see you as I see,
A sleepless eye and a heart that beats fervently.
Whenever lightning flashes or a bird sings,
I bend down, for my heart is enchanted.
I have tested the fire of passion, which does not extinguish,
In the midst of the wilderness that leaves me scorched.
And I have blamed lovers until I experienced it,
And I marveled at how one who does not love can die.
I excused them, recognizing that my fault is that I accused them,
Only to find in it the pain they endured.
O my kin, we are the residents of a place,
Where the raven of separation always caws.
We weep for the world, yet no group,
Has gathered that the world does not separate.
Where are the mighty kings who once amassed
Riches, for they have neither remained nor passed away?
From every mortal whose space became tight,
Until he found his resting place in a narrow grave.
They become mute when called, as if unaware,
That speaking is allowable for them always.
For death is impending, and souls are precious,
And those who hold tightly to their possessions are the foolish.
Men hope, while life is tempting,
With gray hair weighing them down, and youth causing them to faint.
I have indeed wept for my youth, while my worries
Are deepening, and the luster of my face fades.
I fear for him before the day of parting,
Until I nearly shine with the tears from my eyes.
As for the sons of Aws bin Ma’n bin Al-Ridha,
They are the most honored when people lead them.
I lamented around their abode as it first appeared,
When the suns shone forth, yet no dawn was found.
I marveled at the land, where the clouds of their hands,
Float above it while its rocks do not yield.
The fragrance of praise wafts from them,
To every revered spot that is inhaled.
With an essence made sweet, yet without them,
It remains wild and does not indulge.
Do we seek someone like Muhammad in our age?
Let us not be trailed by the pursuit of the unattainable.
God, the Merciful, has not created anyone like Muhammad,
I believe He will not create anyone like him.
O You who grants abundantly and has,
My pleas to You are indeed charity.
Let the clouds of Your bounty rain upon me,
And look at me with mercy so I may not drown.
In vain did the son of the doer claim in ignorance,
Those who are generous have passed away while You live, offering sustenance.
Poem on Urbanization
From the verses of Al-Buhturi:
O, one who saw the beautiful oasis,
And the companions, when their places were spotted.
It is enough to have it, exalted in its rank,
It is counted as one, and the sea follows it as a second.
Why does the Euphrates, like a rival, compete with it,
In beauty sometimes, and at times, it glorifies it?
Did it not see the guardian of Islam, caring for it,
To not be criticized, while the builder of glory builds it?
As if the jinn of Solomon, who once ruled,
Creatively shaped its deepest meanings.
If the queen of Sheba were to pass by its extend,
She would say, “This is the epitome of representation and metaphor.”
As water moves rapidly,
Like horses released from their tether.
Like liquid silver, cascading,
From the ingots flowing through what runs beneath it.
If the breeze caresses it, it shows off a love,
Like the polished adornments along its edges.
Sometimes the sun’s brilliance plays with it,
And at times, the rains weep for it.
When the stars appear on its sides at night,
You might think it is a vast sky assembled within it.
No fish can reach its limits,
Due to the distance between its far and near.
They swim within it, with wide winged expanse,
Like birds diving into an airy realm.
It has a vast basin in its depths;
When they descend, the hallways expand high.
A visage akin to dolphins endears it,
With glances comparable to those that follow it.
The gardens of its outskirts sing upon sight of it,
Away from clouds, extricating its allure.
As if, when it cascaded, it brought forth,
What flows from the caliph’s hand as it streams down.
And it gained adornment after its elevation,
For his name, when it is called, from its titles.
Surrounded by gardens, it continues to witness,
The peacocks’ feathers emulate and tell its story.
With two impressive forms, like the Pleiades,
One seems like the other in their appearance.
When the endeavors of the Commander of the Faithful emerge,
For the describers, not a description can match it.
Poem on the Vice of Stinginess
In the words of Ilya Abu Madi:
And the fig tree’s lush branches high,
Spoke to its peers while summer drew near;
Wretched fate that has placed me in this world,
Where I possess beauty while another enjoys gazing at it.
I shall suppress my fruits from myself,
So that no trace remains for it outside of me.
What burdens I impose on myself beyond my capacity,
For the shade and fruit are for another.
With wings and claws, my desire is evident,
Yet there is no pleasure in life for me to see.
I am but a shadow upon my body’s form,
Neither extended nor shortened it can be.
I bear not fruit until I’m confident,
That neither bird nor human approaches me.
Spring has returned to the world in its procession,
Adorning it and dressing the trees in silk.
Yet the foolish fig tree stands naked,
As if it were a post or a rock.
The orchard keeper could not bear the sight,
So he uprooted it, and down it fell into the fire.
Whoever does not expend what life offers,
Truly is a fool, perishing from greed.
Poem on the Mother
Mohammed Darwish wrote a poignant poem about mother’s love:
I yearn for the bread of my mother,
The coffee of my mother,
The touch of my mother,
Growing like a child on the chest of a day,
And I adore my life because of it;
If I die, I will feel ashamed of my mother’s tears!
Take me back, if I return someday,
To a scarf for your eyelashes
And cover my bones with herbs,
Washed by the purity of your ankle.
Bind me tightly with a strand of hair,
With a thread that waves in the hem of your dress,
I hope to become a deity,
A deity I yearn to be,
If only I touch the core of your heart!
Place me, if I return,
As fuel for your oven…
And a clothesline on your roof,
For I have lost my footing,
Without the prayer of your daytime.
I have aged, so return the stars of my childhood,
So I may partake with the young sparrows,
On the journey back to your anticipation!
Poem on Injustice
Ali ibn Abi Talib, may Allah be pleased with him, spoke about injustice:
Indeed, verily, injustice is a curse,
And the wrongdoer has always been the true oppressor.
To the Just One on the Day of Judgment we shall go,
There at God, all disputes shall converge.
You will recognize in the reckoning, when we meet,
That tomorrow, with the King, who is the tyrant?
Delight shall be cut off from certain people,
From this world, while the burdens will cease.
For some reason, the nights have shifted,
For some reason, the stars have stirred.
Ask the days about the nations that have vanished,
They will tell you of the landmarks and the ruins.
They seek eternity in the land of mortality,
So many have attempted what you now endeavor.
You sleep, while destiny does not sleep from you,
Take heed of the end, oh you who rest!
You have reveled in oblivion while you too shall perish,
For nothing in this world lasts forever.
You will die tomorrow while you are the serene watchman,
Amidst the abundance in a deep abyss.
Poem on the People of Egypt
Abdul Rahman Al-Ashmawy expresses:
The winds stir, but there is no escape,
For the land of the Kinanah does not play about;
And Egypt of the Kinanah, its history,
Is a spring that gives and does not dry.
The people of Kinanah do not shrink away,
Nor do they hide nor cower.
Patient in the face of harsh days,
They bear and accept without causing trouble.
But when they are scorched,
By the fire of humiliation, they do not waver.
And the people of Egypt are but a tale,
Written with the pens of our glories.
Thus is our nation, with a heart,
Sound and with a pure essence.
And in it, the people through Islam,
Honor Him and drink from its source.
People extend their hands to their rulers,
With love, unless they ruin them.
They protect their surroundings when,
Their rights are safeguarded and not stripped.
They entrust their rulers with their affairs,
Provided they are honest and do not plunder.
A people whose dignity is a pearl,
Cannot be violated nor pierced.
People whose feelings are sweet,
And the source of their faith is the sweetest.
They love tranquility and contentment,
And admire their lush garden.
But when they are belittled,
And their rights are obstructed,
They become a smoldering ember,
Igniting with a fire that burns bright.
O people of Egypt, O Nile,
And O oasis where the garden flourishes,
May glory elevate you with a smiling face,
With sunlight of justice that never sets.
This is the truth—a dawn to its lights,
That pleases our nation with its song.
When justice spreads within a nation,
Its stature rises, and the ship sails safely.