Nasib Arida – searchable text

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   يا نفس                                                     

يا نفس،   مالــك   والأنين       تـتــألـمـيـن       وتـؤلـمـيـن

عذبـت    قـلـبي    بالحنين       وكــتـمـتـه   ما   تـقـصديـن

قد    نام   أرباب   الغرام       وتـدثـروا   لـحف  السلام

وأبـيـت   يا نفس     المنام       أفأنــت وحـدك  تـشـعريـن

الليل   مــرّ   على  سواكْ       أفــمـا  دهـاهـم  مـا  دهــاك

فلِــمَ     التمرد      والعراك      ما  سـورجـسـمـي  بالـمتـين

أطلقت    نوحك   للظلام       إيـاك   يـسـمـعـك   الأنـــام

فيـظن    زفرتــك    النـيام       بـوق  النشور   ليوم  ديــن

يا نفس ما لك في اضطراب       كــفــريـسة  بـيـن  الذئـاب

هلا رجعت   إلى  الصواب      وبــدلــت ريــبــك   باليـقيـن

أحـمـامـة    بـيـن   الـريــاح      قـد  ساقــها  القــدرالــمـتاح

فابــتــلّ  بالــمـطـر  الجــنــاح      يــا نـفـس، مـالـك ترجـفيـن

أوَمـا  لـحـزنـك  مـن  بـراح      حـتى ولـو  أزِفَ   الصـبـاح

يــالـيـت  سـرّك  لــي مـباح       فأعـي صـدى ما قد تـعـيـن

أسْبَتـْـك   أرواح   الـقـتـام       فأرتـك  مــا خـلـف الـلـثـام

فـطـمـعـت  فيـمـا   لا يـرام       يا نـفـس كـم ذا تـطـمـحيـن

أصـعـدت في ركب  النـزوع      حـتـى وصـلـت إلى الـربـوع

فـأتــاك  أمــرٌ    بـالـرجــوع       أعَـلى هـبـوطـك تـأسـفـيـن

أم  شـاقـك الـذكـر القـديـم       ذكــر الـحـمى قبل السديم

فوقـفـت في سـجـن  الأديم        نـحـو  الـحـمى تـتـلـفـتـيـن

أأضـعـت فـكـراً فـي الفضاء       فـتـبـعـتـه  فــوق   الــهــواء

فـنـأى وغـلـغـل  فـي العلاء      فـرجـعـت ثـكـلى  تـنـدبـيـن

أسـلـكـت فـي قـطـر الخيال      دربــاً  يـقـود  إلـى الـمـحـال

فحـطـطـت رحلك  عند آل       يـمـتـصُّ   ريّ   الصــادريـن

فنسيت  قصدك والطلاب       ووقـفـت يذهـلـك السـراب

وهرقت  فضلات الوطاب       طـمـعـاً   بـمــاء    تـأمـلـيـن

حتى  إذا   اشـتـدّ   الأوام       والآل  أسفـر  عـن   ركــام

غـيـّبـت رأسـك  كـالـنـعـام       فـي رمـل  قـلـبـي   تحفرين

أعشِقت مـثـلـك في السماء       أخـتـاً  تـحـنّ إلـى   لـلـقـاء

فـجـلست  في سجن الرجاء       نـحـو الأعــالـي   تـنـظـريـن

لـوّحـت  بـالـيـد   والــرداء       لـتـراك – لــكـن   لا رجــاء

والقـلـب – واأسـفـي عليه         كـالـطـفـل يـبـسط لي يديه

هــلا  مـددت  يــداً  إلـيـه         كـالأمـهـات  إلـى  الـبـنـيـن

غـذيـتــه   مـرَّ     الفـطام          وحـرمـتـه   ذوق  الــغــرام

وصنعت  شيخاً من غلام          يـحـبـو عــلى بـاب السنين

فــغــدا  كــحـفـار  الـقـبــور         يئدُ العـواطــف في الصدور

ويـبـيـت يـهـتـف بـالـثـبـور         يـشـكو إلـيـك وتـشـتـمـيـن

أعـمـى تـطاعـنـه الشجون         وجــراحــه  صــارت عـيــون

وبـها يـرى سـبـل  المــنون         فـيـسـيـر سـيـر الــظافــريــن

حــتــى إذا اقـتـرب الــمراد         تـطـلي    رواءه   بــالسـواد

ويـعـود  مـكفــوفــاً   يـقــاد         بــرنــيــن  عــكاز   الحــنـيـن

يـتـلـمـس  الــنـور   الـبعيد        بـأنـامل  الـفـكـر   الـشـريـد

ويـسـيـل مـن فـمه النشيد        سـيـل الدمـاء مـن الـطـعـيـن

أرأيت  بـيـت  العـنـكبوت        وذبـــابــةٌ    فـيـه    تــمـــوت

رقصتْ على نـغم السكوت        ألـمـاً  فـلـم  يـغـن  الـطـنـيـن

فـكـذاك فـي شـرك الرجـاء        قـلـبـي  يــلــذّ  لـــه   الــغـنــاء

ما  ذاك  شـدواً،  بل رثاء       يـبـكـي بـه  الأمـل   لـدفـيـن

يـا نـفـس إن حــمَّ الـقـضـا        ورجـعـت أنــت إلـى الـسـمــا

وعـلـى قـمـيـصـك من دما        قـلـبـي   فـمـاذا   تــصـنـعـيـن

ضـحـيـت قـلـبـي لـلوصول       وهــرعــت   تـبـغـيـن الـمـثــول

فــإذا دعـيـت إلـى الدخول        فـبـأيّ    عـيـن    تـدخــلـيـن

SOUL!

Soul! Why the wailing?

You suffer and cause suffering.

You have tormented my heart with longing,

 and hidden from it your intent.

The lords of love have slept,

and wrapped themselves in the covers of peace,

But you, soul, have refused sleep.

Do you alone have feeling?

The night has passed by others apart from you.                  5

Are they not afflicted by what befell you?

So why the rebellion? Why the conflict?

The frame of my body is not strong.

You have cast your lament to the darkness.

Beware that mankind should hear you

Lest the slumberers should think your moaning

is the resurrection trumpet on the Day of Judgement.

Soul!  Why the agitation

like a prey amongst wolves?

Have you not regained your senses                                      10

and changed your doubt for certainty?

Are you a dove in the winds,

driven by ordained fate

So that its wings are drenched with rain?

Soul! Why do you tremble?

Or is there no end to your sadness,

even though morning draws nigh?

Would that your secret were known to me,

 so that I could sense an echo of what you may know.

The spirits of darkness captivated you,                                 15

and showed you what lies behind the veil.

So you coveted what cannot be attained.

Soul! How you coveted!

Did you put on the stirrups of desire,

until you attained it?

Then came a command to return.

Is it for your fall that you grieve?

Or has the old memory filled you with longing,

that memory of sanctuary before the haze?

So you stayed in the earthly prison,                                        20

looking back towards the sanctuary.

Are you lost with your thoughts in space,

then followed them over the air?

But they moved far away and melded into the heights,

so you returned, bereft, mourning.

In the realm of the imagination

you followed a path leading to the unattainable,

So you put down your saddle at a mirage

 which sucks up the water of those who approach.

Then you forgot your purpose and your quest,                     25

 and you stayed, distracted by the mirage.

You spilled out the drops from the milk skins,

craving for water, hoping,

Then when thirst became intense

and the mirage revealed a pile of stones,

You hid your head, digging like

an ostrich in the sands of my heart.

Did you fall in love with a mate like you

in the heavens who longs for reunion?

So you sat in the prison of hope,                                                30

gazing towards the heights.

You beckoned with hand and cloak

for her to see you – but no hope.

My Heart!  Oh my grief for it,

like a child holding out its hand to me.

Did you not stretch out a hand to it

like mothers to their sons?

You have weaned it on bitterness,

and deprived it of the taste of love.

You have made an old man of youth,                                        35

crawling at the gate of years.

So like the grave diggers,

it gets to bury live emotions in the hearts

And goes on cheering destruction,

complaining to you while you heap abuse.

Blind, grief stabs it.

Its wounds have become eyes.

Through them it sees the paths of fate,

and proceeds as though victorious

Until when the desired object comes near,                             40

they cover its beauty with blackness

And it returns, sightless,

led by the tapping of the staff of longing,

Groping for the distant light

with the fingertips of distracted thought

While from its mouth a song flows,

like blood flowing from someone stabbed.

Have you seen a spider’s web,

with a fly dying within it?

It danced to the tune of silence in pain,                                  45

its buzzing in vain.

Likewise in the toils of hope

my heart delights in song.

That is no song, but a lament

in which weeps buried hope.

Soul!  If fate decrees

and you return to the heavens

With my heart’s blood on your gown,

what will you do?

You have sacrificed my heart to arrive there,                        50

you have rushed to present yourself.

But if you are invited to enter,

then how do you think you will go in?

Source

Nasīb ꜤArīḍa (1946), al-Arwāḥ al-Hāʾira (New York), 87-90. Translation by © Robin Ostle.
(I am grateful to my colleague Geert Jan van Gelder for a number of corrections and suggestions which have improved these translations. —R.O.)