Arabic Poems

The distance to the Kaaba of all my hopes is now complete; praise to the One who blessed me with this fulfillment. He gave rest to my mount, worn out from night journeys, from the endless setting down of loads and the breaking of camp. He freed me from the chains of kin and homeland, from the bonds of loved ones and possessions. From the worries of my mother, the grief of my brothers, the sorrows of my uncle and the shadow of my mother's brother. From the lectures of masters and scholars, and the blame of the envious and the reproachers. He sheltered me from the company of liars, and protected me from a people of ignorance. From the assault of the swelling waves of the seas, and the harm of tax collectors and officials. He brought me to the highest of goals and desires: I mean meeting the guide who shows the way to the lost. Light to the horizons after their darkness, guidance to all creatures after they had gone astray. I mean the servant of Ali, the noble one, whose single glance revives a soul worn to ruin. No likeness for him is fitting; never have the eloquent succeeded in drawing his portrait. He is a high, towering mountain of excellence and generosity, a spring of every virtue and noble trait. Star of guidance, full moon in the dark, sea of piety, treasure of grace, storehouse of all states. Like the earth in forbearance, like the mountains in steadiness, like the sun in radiance, like the sky in loftiness. Wellspring of the sacred law, mine of mystic knowledge, helper of humankind, source of all bounties. Pole of the spiritual paths, model for the pillars of the faith, rescuer of all creation, journey's end for the saints. Master of mankind, the qibla of Islam, foremost of the great, the resolver of difficulties. He guides toward the First with hidden guidance, and calls toward the Lord with a loud voice. Beloved of the Lord of the worlds; whoever follows his guidance becomes a model for others. How many an ignorant man, shackled by passion, his single glance, like kohl, set free! How many a perfect saint, when he turned him away, marvels of states were withheld from him. How many a denier of his high rank was ruined, and the Lord made him taste the harshest punishment. He grants completion to all who are flawed, and removes the flaws of all who are already perfect. The Lord of Glory, exalted is His majesty, has hidden him within the dome of honor and grandeur. People of Mecca, circle around him in pilgrimage, and abandon Hejaz, if you will hear my words. Leave the night at Khayf, run from Muhassir; Mina is my own wish, and the stoning is for miles. Settle in this sacred valley, casting off, in haste, the sandals of desire for both worlds. Make his station your Black Stone in the circuit, no need of Safa, for whoever circles his presence circles the Kaaba of all hopes. There is no running but toward his pleasure at the clinging place; no circling but lawfully around him. Whoever has seen a flash from the lightning of his abode, how could he care for the scent of the meadows of Syria? From the direction of his Midian I glimpsed a fire that stirs the heart into restless longing. So I left my family, saying to them: stay; I will return once the burning has done its work. I resolved to leave behind loved ones and homeland, and mounted the back of a swift, neighing black steed. Stage after stage it folded up along the way, and I forgot my companions and the pact between us. Alas for a swift-running neighbor, and for my appointments forsaken out of overpowering longing for the beautiful one. Who will carry my greeting to my brothers, and lay out my excuse for the betrayal and neglect? Passion has stolen my reason; nothing remains in my mind but the Beloved and the visiting phantom of longing for union. When at last I was honored with reaching him, who can help me thank the gift of arrival? My Lord, I cannot count Your praise; it would be folly for one who has caught even the scent of his own passing. By God, were I given eternal life, and abandoned every act but praise. And were a thousand tongues given me at the root of every single hair, each with thousands of words. And were the self and Satan kept away from me, so that neither could distract me with a passing whisper. And I spent my whole life in His praise, with all my being, forever, without slacking. I could never repay even one of His gifts, let alone account for them one by one. Where are His gifts? They are beyond all counting. How can there be denial, when this is only part of His bounty? And how, in verse or prose, could I praise an Essence that rises far above the depths of imagination? The very denial of metaphor and figure is the most eloquent of His holiness above all comparisons. God of all creatures in the attributes of His perfection: glory to Him, the exalted Creator. My speech is helplessness, my thought bewilderment; in my state nothing befits me but silence. Just as You have decreed my well-being over the months, folding up the great distance of these journeys. And granted us protection from misfortunes, and bestowed on us safety from terrors. And provided us the kissing of the threshold of the qibla; whoever kisses it is blessed with good fortune. So grant us, God of the worlds, by his right, a courtesy befitting that lofty presence. And sustain us with his presence and his survival, with his giving and his unceasing bounty. Add to the length of his life from my own years; may Adam's children rest in his shelter, under his shade. Make me blessed with his gracious acceptance, and grant me the deeds that please him. Increase each day the impact of him upon my heart, as long as I live, in every state. And let me die approved by him and pleased with him, with a contentment that secures my final triumph. So praise to the Lord, the Merciful, the Bestower, the Powerful, the Holy, the Most High. And then blessings upon the chosen Messenger, the best of creatures, and his companions after his family.

You are the heart's companion in the narrows of separation, the cure for a wound no one can bear. You who polish the heart, you of the sweet nature, pure one who surpasses all your peers. Whenever I speak of the grace of your manner and the beauty of your character, your kindness draws the words from me. If you ask about the storm raging in my heart, or want to know of my tears and my burning, then by the One who adorned you with handsome grace and kept you clean of every trace of falseness, and by the One who gave me this fever in our parting: I have not had a single moment free of separation in my whole life. Like the vows once made in your presence, my tears, since we parted, are beyond enduring. They watch me, asking how God could test me so, while my tears pour down like rain upon the fire of longing. How the tears stream and break through my lashes, draining my heart, all flowing together at once. Against all nature, far from your face, my days are never free of darkness and eclipse. Since I drew away from the arrows of your lashes, the bite of this torment has left me like a ruin. At the farewell some people order me to be patient, people who never tasted a sip of its bitterness. How can someone know the blaze burning in my heart, when he has never tasted a glance from those wide, dark eyes? I am dying in this separation with no hope of reunion; who could endure patience along with such an embrace of pain? Khalid recalled the ruby of your lips, and that is why his verse turned fresh and sweet to the taste.

The best of God's creation, the noble chief of the Arabs; this is his description, a duty owed to all. Fair of skin, tinged with a touch of red, with deep dark eyes and smooth, gentle cheeks. Son of Abdullah, son of Abdul-Muttalib, of Hashim and Abd Manaf; ask, and you will get the answer. A Hashimite of Quraysh; his mother was Amina, daughter of Wahb. Learn well where he was born. He was named at Badr in the valley of Mecca, and there at forty he was sent as a messenger. His stature was perfectly balanced in height and form; after fifty-three years he passed on. Having migrated, he dwelt ten years in Medina the Pure; his hair held only twenty gray strands. He lived sixty-three years in all; in describing him every tongue falls short. His radiant face set like a moon in Yathrib; how blessed a place of setting it made it.