Every Soul Drinks of Death
Poem to my father.
I slaughtered my she-camel
on the grave of Mullawah
between brittle desert trees.
I did it after the riverbeds
of his friendships
had dried up.
I said to her
Be my sacrifice, for the dawn
of coming day
I will walk
as yesterday by you
I was carried.
May God not keep you far
from me, oh father. I know
that every soul of Death
does drink.
There Shone Laila’s Fire
Near the oasis shone
Laila’s fire.
Though you may journey
to Taounate, camel-back
to the coast
you could not stray
under as
infernal a gaze
as this.
A tribesman said:
I glimpsed a planet!
in the black it shone
like the bright star
of the Bear.
You are wrong to think so,
I said to him.
That blaze above you
is Laila’s fire.
The further back
I crane my neck
the more fiercely appears
her light to me.
How useless this firewood
my tribesmen cut! If only
they had left the trees
intact, walking along us
in the dark.
Oh night—how often is it
that I run to your black face
with pressing need
only to forget
when I turn to you
for what I came.
My companions,
do not shake me
for more tears—
When my eyes water
I reach for that friend
who, seeing my state,
will cry for me.
I do not chance upon
these vistas, except in
agony. I do not chant upon
these lyrics except
to allay what I feel.
God may join together
those frayed threads
some day
even as they think
no reunion
possible.
God Curse the Tribes
God curse the tribes that claim
to have cured love, after decades
of trial.
Have they not witnessed
my oath to Laila?
Mortal
she may be,
guiding our livestock
to the campsite at dusk.
Gray
may have grown
the hairs of her sons
and gray the hairs
of their sons, and yet
she hangs
in my heart’s halls
unchanged
by Time’s passing.
This tribe beguiled me
with promises of friendship.
I sat with them, and they fed me
gilded words
I sat with them and they flaunted
triumph over love!
This gathering
depletes me, I who spend
my prayers for rain
on the tribe of Laila,
on those rings of womenfolk,
their desires adrift
chasing the whims
of their flock
through the sand.
There is no repentance
to be had from this love.
No poverty can move her
from my mind’s eye
and no wealth.
Though women dye their locks
her color, and show themselves
to me, I cannot forget
the one in my heart.
I am only
a desperate man
enfolding the pillars of houses
with my weak arms.
My companions, my foresight
is as frail as I am. What God has meted
out for us, I claim
no knowledge.
كل امرئ للموت شارب
عقرت على قبر الملوح ناقتي بِذي الرَّمْث لَمَّا أنْ جَفاهُ أقارِبُه
فَقُلْتُ لها كُونِي عَقيراً فإنَّني غداة غد ماش وبالأمس راكبه
فلا يُبْعِدنْكَ اللّه يابْنَ مُزَاحمٍ فكُلُّ امْرِىء ٍ لِلمَوْتِ لابُدّ َشاربُه
لاحت نار ليلا
بِثَمدَينِ لاحَت نارَ لَيلى وَصَحبَتي بِذاتِ الغَضا تَزجي المَطِيَّ النَواجِيا
فَقالَ بَصيرُ القَومِ أَلمَحتُ كَوكَباً بَدا في سَوادِ اللَيلِ فَرداً يَمانِيا
فَقُلتُ لَهُ بَل نارَ لَيلى تَوَقَّدَت بِعَليا تَسامى ضَوؤُها فَبَدا لِيا
فَلَيتَ رِكابَ القَومِ لَم تَقطَعِ الغَضا وَلَيتَ الغَضى ماشى الرِكابَ لَيالِيا
فَيا لَيلُ كَم مِن حاجَةٍ لي مُهِمَّةٌ إِذا جِئتَكُم يا لَيلُ لَم أَدرِ ما هِيا
خليليَّ إِن لا تبكياني ألتمس خليلا إِذا أنزفت دمعي بكى ليا
فما أشرف الأبقاع إِلا صبابة ولا أنشد الأشعار إِلا تداويا
وقد يجمع الله الشتيتين بعدما يظنان كلّ الظنّ أن لا تلاقيا
لحى الله أقواماً
لحى الله أقواماً يقولون إننا وجدنا طوال الدهر للحب شافيا
وَعَهدي بِلَيلى وَهيَ ذاتُ مُؤَصِّدٍ تَرُدُّ عَلَينا بِالعَشِيِّ المَواشِيا
فَشَبَّ بَنو لَيلى وَشَبَّ بَنو اِبنِها وَأَعلاقُ لَيلى في فُؤادي كَما هِيا
إِذا ما جَلَسنا مَجلِساً نَستَلِذُّهُ تَواشَوا بِنا حَتّى أَمَلَّ مَكانِيا
سقى الله جاراتٍ لليلى تباعدت بهنّ النّوى حيث احتللن المطاليا
ولم ينسني ليلى افتقار ولا غنىً ولا توبةٌ حتى احتضنت السواريا
ولا نسوةٌ صبغن كيداء جلعداً لتشبه ليلى ثم عرَّضنها ليا
خليليَّ لا والله لا أملك الذي قضى الله في ليلى ولا ما قضى ليا