Ahmed Shawky Damascus

Ahmad Shawqi

Ahmed Shawqi was born in Cairo in 1868 AD, into a well-to-do family. He joined writers and excelled among his peers, and his poetic talent appeared during the first periods of his studies. He completed his secondary studies, after which he entered the Faculty of Law, and completed his final studies in France in 1893 AD.

He published his first literary work, the first part of Diwan Al-Shawkiyat, in 1898 AD. He was exiled by the British to Andalusia in 1914 AD after World War I and Egypt falling under English rule. Shawqi died in 1932 AD, leaving behind an immortal poetry.

The Damascus Nakba poem by Ahmed Shawqi

Greetings from Saba, Barada Arqaq

And tears that cannot be stopped, O Damascus

And sorry for the firefly and the rhymes

The majesty of Al-Ruz is beyond description

And a reminder of her thoughts to my heart

To you is eternal damage and failure

And what the nights threw at you

Deep wounds in the heart

I entered you and the original has a connection

And your smiling face is full of expressions

And under your gardens the rivers flow

And fill your clouds with leaves and leaves

And around me were young boys in the morning

They have goals and precedence in virtue

On their passions are poets

And in their affections there are passionate orators

The narrators of my poems marveled at the poetry

In every place he narrates a creation

I winked at their foreheads until they sparkled

The lion's noses and the pestilence raged

And everyone is free from the noise

A father from Umayyah who was freed

May God bless her with news that came to her

The guardian heard with dismay

A mail delivers it to the world

And it brings it to the horizons with lightning

The events are almost as amazing as it is

It seems like a myth but it is true

It was said that the landmarks of history were destroyed

It was said that it was damaged and burned

Isn't Damascus a supporter of Islam?

The mother’s wet-feeding woman shall not be subjected to obstruction

Saladin, your crown is not beautified

He was not labeled with anything more beautiful than that

And every civilization on earth prospered

It has a vein from your upper deck

Your sky is one of the jewels of the past, a book

And your land is one of the jewels of history

You built a great state and a kingdom

The dust of his civilizations cannot be broken through

He has banners and weddings in the Levant

His tidings of Andalusia are ringing

The mole's quarter, woe to what has befallen it

It is more correct that she studied. It is more correct that she studied

Are the rooms of Paradise tables?

Does their bliss like yesterday have a pattern?

And where are the puppets of the palaces of Hajal?

Shattered and curtains torn

It emerged and in the outskirts of the wood there was fire

And behind the elk there are chicks that fly

If he hopes for safety on the way

Without him came ways to die

A night of shells and bombs

Behind his sky there is a rapture and a shock

When the iron blows, the horizon turns red

On its sides and a black horizon

Ask someone who takes care of you after weakness

He made his heart clear and the rock split

And for the colonizers, even if they are kind

Hearts are like stones that do not rest

He attacked you with his recklessness and attacked France

A warlike brother who is arrogant and foolish

When seekers of truth come to him

He says a gang went out and made inroads

France knows the blood of revolutionaries

And you know that it is light and truth

There was life in her land

Like the one from the sky, and in it is sustenance

A country whose youth died so that it could live

They left behind their people to remain

And the peoples were liberated on their own

So how can it be used to cover its channel?

Children of Syria, put forward your hopes

And cast away your dreams

It is a trick of politics to be deceived

With the titles of the emirate, which are slavery

How lowly hunting seemed to you

It also bent from the neck of the crucified one

King’s desires come and go

And it does not go to different hernias

I advised while we were in different places

But we are all concerned about the East

And He unites us when countries differ

A different statement and pronunciation

You stood between death or life

If you desire the bliss of eternity, then be miserable

And for the homelands in the blood of every free person

An advance hand and a due debt

And whoever waters and drinks from the dead

If the free people are not given water, they will be given water

He does not build kingdoms like victims

It does not diminish rights or achieve justice

For in the dead there is life for generations

And for the captives, ransom is given to them and they are set free

There is a door to red freedom

With every beaten hand he beats

May the Majesty reward you, the people of Damascus

The glory of the East begins with Damascus

You helped your brother on the day of his ordeal

And every brother is right in helping his brother

The Druze were not an evil tribe

Even if they were taken for what they did not deserve

But Dhada and Qarat Dhaif

Like a spring of purity, they have become rough and thin

They have a beautiful mountain with peaks

Resources in the clouds

For every lioness and every lioness

A struggle without its goal and an attack

As if something of the heavens had been filled in it

All his aspects are honor and character.

Other poems about Damascus

Poets composed various poems in Damascus of different nationalities, united by Arab unity in a single stance against external aggression. Among these poems are the following:

From the notebook of a Damascene lover

Nizar Qabbani

I spread the fringe over the pure soil

O Damascus... Why do we start blaming?

My love, you... so lie down like a song

On my arm, and don't explain why

You are all women... there is no woman

I loved you after you... except that I thought it was a lie

O Sham, my wounds have no cure

So wipe away the sadness and fatigue from my forehead

And take me back to the walls of my school

And return the ink, chalk, and books

Those boats, how much treasure I buried in them

How many memories of her youth she left behind

How many pictures I painted on its walls

How many toys I broke on its drawers

I came from the womb of sorrows... my country

I kiss the earth, the doors, and the meteors

My love is here.. and my beloved ones were born here

Who will give me back the life that was gone?

I am an entire tribe of lovers

And from my tears I watered the sea and the clouds

Every willow I turned into a woman

And every minaret I inlaid with gold

These orchards were among my luggage

When I left Al-Fayha as an expatriate

I don't wear any shirt

Except I found grapes on his strings

How much he sails.. and the worries of the land inhabit him

And fleeing from the justice of love

O Sham, where are the eyes of Muawiyah?

And where are those who crowded the shoulder of the meteors?

There are no dancing horses of Bani Hamdan

Pride... nor is Al-Mutanabbi full of milk

We touch Khaled's grave in Homs

The grave trembles with anger at its visitors

O Lord who lives... the marble of the grave is his dwelling place

And perhaps a dead man... on his feet

O son of Al-Walid, is there a sword that you rent?

All our swords have become wood

Damascus, the treasure of my dreams and my fan

I complain Arabism or complain you Arava?

The lashes of June made their backs bloody

So they became addicted to it...and they were miserable and stopped beating him

They read history books...and were convinced

When did guns live in books?

They gave Palestine colorful dreams

And they fed her ridiculous words and speeches

They left Jerusalem bare on the mud

Azza allows her gifts to whomever they wish..

Is there anything written from Palestine that reassures me?

Who did you write to? And what did they write to?

And about lemon groves, and about a dream

He gets further away from me...as they get closer

Oh Palestine... who will give you a lily?

Who will restore your destroyed house?

You wandered over the sidewalk of tears, searching

About tenderness, but I did not find a father..

You call...you find us in our emptiness..

Who worships sex, or who worships gold

One was blinded by bliss

So he bowed down and gave the Ghawani everything they had earned

And one is bathed in the seas of oil

He had narrowed his garment with burlap and wore reeds

And one of them is a narcissist in his bed

And one of the blood of the free people they drank

If those who slaughtered history are my relative

On the ages... I reject lineage

Oh Sham, oh Sham, there is no joy in me

I ask forgiveness for poetry to beg for joy

What will I read from my poetry and literature?

Horse hooves trampled our literature

It besieged us... and hurt us... so there was no pen

He told the truth or was assassinated or crucified

O He who reproaches those who were slaughtered for their blood

And his artery bled, how easy it was to blame

Whoever tries ironing will never forget its pain

Whoever sees poison will not be as miserable as someone who drank it

The rope of grief is wrapped around my neck

Who would blame a hanged person if they are disturbed?

Poetry is not doves that we fly

Towards the sky, not a flute...and the wind of Saba

But it was anger that lasted long

How cowardly poetry is if it does not contain anger

Damascus Road

Mahmoud Darwish

From the blue the sea began

This day returns from the previous white

Now I come from the next red..

Wash yourself, O Damascus, with my color

To be born in the Arab time during the day

I besiege you: kill or be killed

And I ask you: a witness or a martyr

When will you release the river? So back to the blue water

أخضر

red

Yellow or whatever color the river specifies

I came out of summer and sword

I came out of the cradle and the grave

My horses slept on the trees of memories

And I slept on the desire of miracles

Your hands wore me down like a song that if they lowered it on a mountain, it was a surah

“They win.”

Damascus, your hands wore me Damascus, I wore your hands

It is as if the map is a voice emerging from the rock

He called and moved me

Then he called...and blew me up

Then he called out and dripping me like melted marble

And he called out

As if the map was a sacred female who deflowered me, and I exploded

In defense of the secret and the rock

Be Damascus

They do not cross!

From orange begins orange

And from her silence, yesterday begins

Or the grave is born

Oh you impossible, they call you the Levant

I open my wound to let the sun shine, what is my name? Damascus

And I was alone

And like me, he was alone, which is impossible.

Zero hour has struck

So it split open

Vacuum cells on the saddle of this horse

Trapped between the waters

And between the waters

It's zero hour

I came to say:

I besiege them, kill or be killed

Prepare for them as much as you can... and the moon of the stage will split in my corpse

I reach for the guillotine

I besiege them, kill or be killed

And I forget the caliphate during the long Arab travel

To wheat, Jerusalem, and the impossible

Two daggers delay me:

the enemy

The ruggedness of a little child you call

Papyrus

And I called it a beginning

I told him that I was a killer or be killed

From black began red. The blood started

This is me, this is my corpse

What stage now passes between you and me?

I am the difference between them

The link between them

A sword kiss between them

Rose stabbed him between them

Oh, how small the earth is!

What is the biggest wound?

They passed

To expand the point, the sperm, the difference

Street, coast, land

How big is the Earth!

What a small wound

This is the road to Damascus... and this is the cooing of pigeons

And this is me.. This is my corpse

And we joined together

So they passed...

Take her to war so I can end the war between you and me

Take it...burn it with its enemies

Send it down on a mountain as a cloud or a book

And they passed

To widen the difference between me and my accusation

Damascus Road

Damascus road

And the crossroads of the confused apostles in front of Ramadi

I leave your stones - May is not a wall

I leave your stones and walk

Behind my blood on the road to Damascus

I fight myself...and its enemies

Tired people, or confused passers-by, ask me my name

I don't know him..

Ask an herb on the Damascus Road!

And I walk as a stranger

Young girls ask me about my country

So I say: Search on the Damascus Road

And I walk as a stranger

Bored wise men ask me about my time

A green stone was pointed on the road to Damascus

And I walk as a stranger

People leaving the monastery ask me about my language

So I counted my mistakes and made a mistake

I spelled these letters, so how do I put them together?

Dahl, Mim, Shin, Qaf

They said: We knew Damascus!

I smiled. Damascus complained to the Levant

How thousands of faces were erased

And your face is still the same!

Why did you bend down to bury the victims?

And your chest is still rising

I follow my blood and obey my guide

And I walk behind my blood towards my gallows

This is my profession, Damascus

From death you begin, and you were sleeping in the bottom of my silence and no

Do you hear...

You have prepared for me a language of marble and lightning

And I walk to my cold, oh, immersed in it or afraid of it

The distance between courage and fear

Dream

He was embodied in the gallows

Oh, how wide and narrow the kiss is!

And two daggers loosened me:

the enemy

And River lives in a factory

This is my body, me

A horizon bending over you

Or a shoe at the door stolen by the river

I mean

The nakedness of a little child they call him

Papyrus

I called it a beginning

I told him that I was a killer or be killed.

The proceeds of white remorse imitate me

Going to the mysterious green

Women standing at the Jasmine Moment

Damascus! We waited for you to come out

To meet again outside of miracles

We waited for you..

And time fell asleep

And love came, so we came to war

We wash the bird's wings between your golden fingers

O woman the color of sad Arabian foam.

Damascus dew and blood

Damascus dew

Damascus time.

Damascus Arabs!

The proceeds of white remorse imitate me

Going to the mysterious green

Standing on the vibrations of anger

The soldiers carry you on their sleeves

They fall at your feet stars

Be the Damascus they dream of

So it is the Arabs

I said something, and I will finish it on the day of my death and my birthday

From the blue the sea began

And Damascus begins with me, I die

On the roads of the Levant, the Khalqi week begins

How far is the Levant, how far is the Levant from me 1

And the sword of distance cut my sins... it cut my vein

Two daggers approached me

The enemy and my death

I began to see the Levant... how close the Levant is to me

And he hangs me in my vein..

I said something... and he finished it

Confessor, bargain with me, Damascus

He said: Damascus is far away

So I broke his chair and made a cross out of mountain wood

I see you two hearts apart in one body

And I was looking at you through the nails

You are the creed

I was a martyr of the faith

And you were sleeping inside my wound

At zero hour, the meeting took place

Between meeting and saying goodbye

I bid farewell to my death... and leave

How beautiful is the Levant, if it were not for the Levant, and in the Levant

The Arab time begins and the barbaric time ends

Zero hour has struck

And she split

Vacuum cells on the surface of this great big horse

Horse trapped in water

And between the waters

Give them what you can...

And a moon splits in my corpse... the zero hour has struck,

And in my corpse was a seed that grew for ears of corn

Seven ears, in each ear a thousand ears..

This is my corpse. Empty it of wheat and then take it to war

To end the war between you and me

Take it and burn it with its enemies

Take it to widen the difference between me and my accusation

And walk in front of me

He was born in the Arab time... during the day.