ناجيت قبرك

Into God's safe keeping go what I bear and what I endure; is this a boulder here, or is it my own liver?

Sorrow may kill those whose loved ones are merely far away—how much more so one whose loved ones are lost entirely?

The world moves on at its own steady pace, followed closely by human opinions and beliefs trying to decode its course.

Free-thinking philosophers are exhausted by their own ignorance of what tomorrow hides within its two covers.

Far-fetched reasoning has dragged on, their solutions have proven intractable, and the knots remain exactly as they were.

Would that life and death were acts of mercy, sparing the twenty-year-old youth and sparing the frail old man.

Sparing the young woman whose youth was cut short in its prime, and the elderly woman leaning for support on her hands.

Would that the lifespans of eagles were halved and distributed, so no single creature bore the full weight alone.

Greetings to you, mother of Furat, a mother whose honorific is mirrored by what she bore and what she raised.

A greeting whose burning passion I found no way to hold back, even though the barrier of the grave has risen between us.

With your soul, answer it back, for that is the true link between those who love—what use is the physical body?

My tears would have proved too proud had you not stirred a grief from which I returned to cool my burning tears.

I stripped off the garment of patience that used to cover me, and the falsehood of my claim to toughness was exposed.

I wept until even strangers wept with me, and I wailed until a singing bird tried to mimic my tune.

Just as a hard rock suddenly gushes with abundant water, my hardened heart burst open with tears.

To God belongs a phrase that brings comfort, uniting both those who submit to faith and those who deny it.

Reach out a hand to me so a hand may reach back to you; whether in life or in death, we must remain united.

We were like two halves of a whole; when destiny claimed one, the fate of the other was left standing in suspension.

I communed with your grave, questioning its shadows about the state of a sudden guest who arrived at its door.

A barren, parched emptiness inside my heart echoed back the sound of someone searching for a drink and finding nothing.

A phantom wrapped around me—how closely it resembled the curly locks of your hair gathered around your face!

In terror, I cast my head into its folds, matching the very act of my own heartbreak and burning.

In the days when my chest grew tight, I would find rest upon a breast that was time itself—never breaking a promise, never failing to fulfill one.

May God never leave desolate the ground where you dwell; I imagine your grave as a radiant, glowing garden.

And that your spirit finds sweet companionship there, unlike the restless misery of a wretched dead soul.

We were like a sprout of sweet basil ravaged by a freezing gale; its leaves were scattered far and wide.

Your wings sheltered my children; you were a smiling mouth when they woke, and a watchful eye when they slept.

A multitude of duties that mere loyalty could not contain—can it truly count as loyalty that I am consumed by grief?

Her heart never found a place to harbor malice, nor uncleanness, nor wickedness, nor envy.

She was never a jealous rival to her neighbor, twisting things when good fortune came her way or oppressing others.

She never cowered before a sudden blow of fate, nor did wealth or children ever make her arrogant.

They said, 'The lightning-fast news has arrived,' and I told them, 'By God, if it were good news, the messengers would have lagged behind.'

The wide expanses of Lebanon felt narrow to me, and all its hills and peaks closed in around my chest.

That land whose very beauty once made the eye dance with joy, back when we were together and life was sweet and abundant.

A darkened place breathing forth a scorching memory that burns me, until I feel angry at its very prime.

By God, no departure, no new destination, no person, and no city has tasted sweet to me since the news of your death was announced.

Where is there to flee when everything in it hunts me down, and the memories are fresh, their branches still tender?

Are these the shadows that used to shelter us, or the hills, or the water we used to drink?

Or are you standing right there from whence we find rest and a place to recline?

How quickly the vision shifted, though the visions themselves never wavered nor did the span stretch even for an hour.

I passed by the poplar grove when it was brimming with wedding celebrations, and returned to find it shivering like a haunted den of jinn.

What a bitter regret that I could not bid her a final farewell while her guarded body rested in its coffin.

If only I could read upon her pristine page what turbulent emotions and passions are gathered there.

And hear a single word from her lips praising me—or God forbid, offering a critique.

Or catch one hurried glance from her that might serve as my anchor through life and all the trials I face.