Abla, Abla, my most beautiful love
My highest, strongest, most perfect love
Yesterday I adored her purity
And today I see her as my best tomorrow
She is the mistress of enduring love
She made me forget what first love was
She left me to kiss her forehead
And my blood groaned like a cauldron
I plunged, I plunged into her eyes
And the tears gathered what had wet
My heart begged that I amuse myself,
while reason calls to me: Be reasonable!
I might ignite my anger with a woman,
and I fear to do so because of Abla.
Magic adorns her eyelids,
and I am defeated or defenceless.
I endure the sleeplessness of lovers,
and suffer from a night longer than mine.
Not even the moon can rival her beauty,
and the sun, I assure you, would be ashamed.
An Arab woman of bygone glories,
And the past is dawn. The Future
In the name, you see a wondrous melody
Played by letters unpolished
The letter Ḍād crafted it with its splendour
To be unique... or divinely inspired
Forgive me... no name pleases me
Except the most refined and perfect name
A word beautifies it
And the word echoes what it beautifies
A bird may leave its nest
But my birds will not leave
For the body sustains me Wheat
And the feathers of my wings are plucked
I lit my candles in honour
Of the breast, and the swaying figure
Her lips are a temple of goddesses
And my mouth bows down if it kisses
Her saliva is like casks of wine
And I long to be intoxicated
Jasmine colours her smile
And roses work on her cheeks
Her neck shines with its ingots
And her hair weaves like a spindle
Its threads are cut from Night
No night is like the night of hair
And the skin is a textile factory
The most precious of which are taffeta and velvet
And I am a watchman who never sleeps
To guard the factory's production
**
