عج بالسواحل لا خانتك غيداء — Mufti Fathallah

Turn toward the shores—may no graceful maiden betray you,

Nor may Asma strike you with the arrow of separation.

For it is a home of intimacy, with nothing hidden there;

Can the morning sun at noon be concealed?

Alight at Beirut’s harbor and in its garden,

For it is a garden, spacious and radiant with bloom.

Descend upon its hills, and send me tidings of yourself;

Perhaps the telling of news will revive the yearning one.

For I am making Damascus my homeland,

And whoever is smitten with her charm becomes a theme for my verse.

A city whose luminaries, if they gave the command,

Could bid the morning sun hide, and it would not appear if they wished.

In her all beauties dwell, and nowhere else;

And beauty is customarily contained in one fair woman.

She is the bride—and if her charms are recounted,

Egypt is not Egypt, nor Aleppo Aleppo.

May neither sorrows befall her, nor any clouding care,

And may the Merciful’s blessings never forsake her.

In her I found consolation for my home and native land,

For through gracious kindness even loved ones may be forgotten.

If, Beirut, I have a father in you,

Then in Damascus I have lords and sons—

Especially al-Sayyid al-Sawwaf, the greatest of them,

The foremost of the noble; may adversity never touch him.

High-souled, he has no regard for anything but lofty deeds,

Nor lends an ear to anything but virtue.

Peerless—and no wonder that he has no equal,

For his brow shines illustrious through the ages.

However fair the qualities of anyone besides him,

Beside even a part of what he possesses, they are hideous.

Through him perfection rose and quivered with delight,

For among the glorious, perfection has its summit.

A noble man—however greatly you strive to praise him,

You acknowledge your incapacity, and weariness makes you sit down.

How could my praise suffice? Alas, my weakness and my speechlessness,

Even if al-Khansa herself stood below us in praise!

Speak of his eloquence, and listen to his lucid speech:

In both is tawny wine distilled from meanings of grace.

He is awe-inspiring: if you recall his majesty,

Every brave warrior’s hand is palsied.

I could never bring myself to address him,

Were it not for the smile of his teeth and his forgiving forbearance.

Do not strive, weary one, misled by vain hope,

To attain what he has won—for virtue is a gift.

And do not say, “I encompass all his noble qualities,”

For my ear is deaf to such obscenity.

Nor display a form, falsely claiming it resembles his,

For my two eyes are blind to such ugliness.

For amid glory’s necklaces he is the central jewel,

Radiant—indeed, a peerless pearl throughout the ages.

Here, my lord, take this sheltered maiden,

Whom I brought forth in thought, so she remains a virgin.

Toward you she walks bashfully, endowed with decorum,

Swaying proudly and admiringly, slender-waisted.

She would accept none among mankind as her equal but you,

For no equals are reckoned for her among mankind.

And if some limp in her should delay her,

How often has a lame mare led the race on the homeward way.

Then lower your gaze if some naked flaw of hers appears:

You are noble, and the noble person’s way is to overlook.

Her only aim was your approval,

For in it lie revival and new life.

Peace—and remain enfolded in God’s protection

As long as a grey dove sings at dawn within the meadow,

And whenever Ibn Fathallah recites to you:

Turn toward the shores—may no graceful maiden betray you.