The Autumn of Minarets



    المساهمات : 496
    تاريخ التسجيل : 14/09/2010

    The Autumn of Minarets

    مُساهمة  Admin في الإثنين أبريل 15, 2013 4:38 pm

    Translated by Abdul Monem Nasser
    Edited by Mark Pirie

    Hymns of priests and saints
    Prayers of martyrs
    Eulogies of lovers of the Lord
    The angels are still roving inside your alleys
    Burning frankincense
    So that your innocence is protected from the cries of Khambaba!
    They imbue your dust with Henna
    And they chant: Karba-elo, an ever-youthful woman
    A blending of the water’s perplexity with foes
    An ancient name it is, in ablution by history and heroism
    Sadness and no grudges
    The banners of wailers flood the horizon

    O, the most ancient of holy places!
    We came to you with yearning and gems
    To slip your chaste water
    The flowing songs of those who took refuge in your chastity
    To escape the stains of wars
    Those who lean on the shoulders of Glory
    And crave for immortality
    Children of your course
    For them, their highest esteem is but to delve in rejection
    They fed their patience to Al-Hallaj
    And poured their forbearance to all
    They traded generosity with determination
    And bound their hearts to their shields
    And they danced - jubilant - till death
    They ate up their hunger to fatten the muscle of death
    And with their mellowness they watered the dew
    And by mercy they split open rock
    They honoured generosity
    Their doors were wide open
    And their windows grew old in waiting
    But, the north wind was cruel to them

    O, you, the multitude of domes and minarets of the Lord!
    Why is it - the further I am from you, the closer I become?
    With me, I carry my compass
    Which asks nothing but to change your name
    I open my books, to find the words pointing towards your heavenly adornment
    My candles dip their beams into your gilded domes
    You are the paradise of tears
    And the joy of sobs and cries
    My dreams look for inspiration in your cooing
    And rub somnolence from my bed
    The same somnolence that deserted me for your wide rivers
    I wet my silence with the autumn of minarets
    And the words pour out
    My childhood is recorded in the Plaza of the Two Shrines
    Yet forgotten is my boyhood that gulped veils at the gate of Al-Qibla
    My years in Al Zainabiyah Hill disport with beads and agate
    In Al Abbas Road beauty and queries vie

    O, you, home to sweet basil!
    I am the guardian of your thirsty love
    My saddle is in gold, beautified with daybreak
    My hymns are made wet by the call to prayer
    So, they bathed in your streams and brooks
    By your air, they were perfumed
    From your torches I lit my words
    While Black banners soared around the throne
    To be your witness, too

    My exit is through Salalimah gate
    Like a dutiful son I salute
    And pilgrimage to the infinite
    To my right, the tree of eternity
    To my left, the two severed hands of Al-Abbas
    Waving to me after dark
    By thirst and yearning
    In front of me, domes shrouded in gold
    Minarets falling asleep in the palms of heaven
    Time and stars tickle their eyelids
    Doors inlaid in gold and silver
    Palms of wailing mothers, adorned with Henna, are bleeding in lament

    I discard my body before getting there
    Fences adorn the rocks of Karbalaa
    And history oozes with blood and grief
    Turbans fill the plains, their mourning darker than the aging of time
    And others are in peace with sadness and frost
    Their veils scavenge intruders, only to be stabbed by security agents
    Streets are born in the wombs of alleys, for hermitages to grow
    Fruit gardens lean on the shoulders of cities
    Fields are drowning, clicking their fingers
    And beards are betrayed by their kindness
    And market places that copulate
    At the end of black banners you wake up
    There, check points are waiting for you.

      الوقت/التاريخ الآن هو الأحد يناير 20, 2019 10:21 am