Sol 5.6

  1. I was bereaved of the gentlest-souled of scholars,

    and the most eloquent when debate grew heated—

  2. a man of letters no other man of letters could rival;

    he had something to say on every knotty question.

  3. Has Taha died? Do not weep for him:

    in eternity’s garden he has room to roam.

  4. God’s neighborhood is better than any neighborhood

    in a land where everything is impossible.

  5. I remembered our meeting in Santris,

    when we were the beauty of that valley.

  6. The crescent was eclipsed; its eclipse was a dance

    over a death the Crescent itself will come to know.

  7. The crescent has died—Taha’s crescent;

    the end of this world is passing away.

  8. Has Taha died? I do not know, for I

    disbelieve each day whatever is said.

  9. The herald of his death awakened my longing for him,

    and I marvel at how mountains can split apart.

  10. When a friend dies, every soul

    in this worldly abode is a phantom.

  11. My friend has died—not that I grieve for him,

    for time itself has perished, and time is no more.

  12. Was yesterday a day, and then it passed?

    And tomorrow—will any place accompany it?

  13. I see myself beholding nothing but phantoms

    wandering through souls pierced with wounds.

  14. Germs assail us while we are healthy,

    like racehorses killed by the race.

  15. The heedless say—and I am not among them—

    that balking is what saves the horses.

  16. I grew angry with my age—yet there is no age,

    for nothing in this world is preserved.

  17. The blood of the faithful is deliberately shed,

    and though precious, it has no protection.

  18. O namesake of the Prophet, no home is home

    when you are mourned to us, nor is any covenant a covenant.

  19. You were a nature fashioned from the subtleties of spirit;

    creation will never see its like again.

  20. Generous by nature, his radiance overflowed,

    like the watered grain that adorns the sword.

  21. A noble man—the mourners spoke at length of him

    with praise that may be counted, or cannot.

  22. We have fallen silent and, from grief, have not elegized you:

    some silence in sorrow is praiseworthy.

  23. What grave contains you, O twin of my heart?

    Every soul is a tomb for your fragrant spirit.

  24. My tears did not weep for you, but

    the heart wept—and it is love’s cradle.

  25. Baghdad—a great man has died whom none can rival

    in immortality’s court except Baghdad’s own spirit.

  26. Had they shrouded him in dreams of spring, his shrouds

    would have become the passion of the thirsty gale.

  27. Taha, you robbed my eyelids of life—how could that not amaze,

    when swords, beside eyelids, are mere sheaths?

  28. You have not died! Did you die only so that

    water and food might taste sweet to the enviers of your merit?

  29. Here lies your beloved, cast upon the dust,

    as flowers seek shelter against the earth’s back.

  30. His virtue did not save him from death; so it is that

    some virtues are a hurricane to men of glory.

  31. I remembered Taha, while my longings whispered to me

    that he is only absent from me for a while.

  32. If we meet again, eternity’s abode is our return;

    nothing beautifies eternity but fragrant flowers.

  33. If I have sinned and my dwelling becomes Saqar,

    he will bear my sins and redeem me.

  34. Fragrant of soul, lofty in letters,

    the blossoms on his great tree are but some of its branches.

  35. Taste and reason were gathered together in one man,

    whom God ennobled in worldly life and faith.

  36. Do not ask me about Taha and his resting place:

    Karkh is now his home, after Baghdad.

  37. I almost forget—but no, by God, my soul has not forgotten

    his charming wit in that gathering.

  38. Guests yearn toward the courtyards of his home

    to hear that softly resonant singer’s voice.

  39. Where is the food, whose delicacies overflowed

    from the voice of a spirit ablaze with reason’s light?

  40. Taha, answer me, answer: have you died, have you gone—

    have those qualities gone for ages upon ages?

  41. This is my poem; I send it to Baghdad

    from my heart’s light and the fires of my innermost being.

  42. I dwell there, and love’s anguish is a flame

    holding life for one slain by separation, far away.

  43. On the Day of al-‘Arubah—which is Friday—there gathered

    poetic gifts to weep for that man of Tayy.

  44. O my poem, a vengeance is yours

    among the sons of Iraq.

  45. O my poem, within you is a fire

    kindled by that separation.

  46. Had al-Shabibi stood in for me in greeting him,

    I would have sheathed my poems on the day of sorrow.

  47. They said, “Al-Shabibi wept in your stead.” I told them:

    Between al-Shabibi and me lie a thousand racecourses.

  48. Speech from him is a poem whenever he utters it:

    the roar is the fierce lion’s poem.

Sol 5.6