Story No. 9

One of the Arab kings lay sick in old age, all hope of life abandoned, when a horseman arrived and brought good news: 'By God's grace we have taken such and such a fortress; the enemies are captured, and the soldiers and people of that region have all submitted to your command.' The king let out a cold sigh and said: 'This is no good news for me; it is good news for my enemies,' meaning the heirs to his kingdom. On this hope my precious life was spent, alas: that what my heart longed for would come knocking at my door. The hope I held did come true, but what good is it? For there is no hope that a life gone by will ever return. The hand of death has beaten the drum of departure. My two eyes, say farewell to my head. My palm, my forearm, my arm, all of you, bid each other goodbye. Now that I have fallen, and my enemy has his wish, my friends, at last, pass by me and pay your last respects. My life slipped away in ignorance. I failed to take warning; you take warning instead.