Do you love me when I am blind?

Nizar Qabbani

Nizar Qabbani is a contemporary poet of Syrian origin. He was born on March 21, 1923, from an ancient family. The pioneer of Arab theater is his grandfather, Abu Khalil al-Qabbani. He finished his studies at the Syrian University, and joined the diplomatic career to move between different capitals. And (painting with words).

The war of 1967 (the setback) was a decisive junction in his life’s journey, as it moved him from being a (poet of love and women) to his intervention in the battlefields of politics, where he issued his poem (margins on the setback notebook), which caused a storm in the Arab world, as a result of which his poetry was banned in the media.

Nizar Qabbani experienced many tragedies in his life, including the death of his wife, Belqis, during a suicide bombing in Beirut, and the death of his son. He died in 1998 and was buried in Damascus.

Poem: Do you love me when I am blind?

she told him

Do you love me when I am blind?

And in the world there are many daughters

Sweet, beautiful and sexy

You are nothing but crazy

Or pity the blind eyes

He said

I am in love, my sweet

I do not wish for my world

Unless you become my wife

God has given me money

And I don't think healing is impossible

She said

If you restore my sight

I will be satisfied with you, my destiny

I will spend my life with you

But ..

Who gives me his eyes

What night will he have?

And one day he came to her rushing

Absheri, I have found the donor

And you will see what God created and created

And you will keep your promise to me

And you shall be my wife

And the day her eyes were opened

He was standing holding her hand

She saw him

I heard her screams

Are you blind too?!

And she cried bad luck

He said

Don't be sad, my love

You will be my eyes and my guide

When will you become my wife?

She said

I am marrying a blind man

I have become a visionary today

so he cried

He said forgive me

Who am I to marry me

But

before you leave me

I want you to promise me

To take good care of my eyes

Other poems by Nizar Qabbani

Among the poems organized by Nizar Qabbani, we include for you the following:

foolish woman

Dear sir

This is the speech of a foolish woman

Did a foolish woman write to you before me?

My name? Let's get out of the names

Rania or Zainab

Umm Hind, Umm Haifa

The most ridiculous of what we carry - sir - names

Sir

I'm afraid to say my things

I fear - if I did - that the sky would burn

Your east, my dear sir

Seize blue messages

He confiscates dreams from women's wardrobes

He uses the knife

and the cleaver

to address women

And slaughter spring and longing

And black braids

And your east, dear sir

Makes a crown of high honour

of women's skulls

Don't criticize me sir

If my handwriting is bad

I write while the executioner is behind my door

Outside the room, the sound of the wind and the dogs

Sir

Antar al-Absi behind my door

slaughter me

If he saw my letter

He cuts off my head

If he saw the transparent of my clothes

He cuts off my head

If I expressed Imnapl

Your east, my dear sir

He besieges the woman with spears

Men pledge allegiance to prophets

And women are buried in the dirt

Stay tuned!

My dear sir...from my lines

Stay tuned!

If you break the bottle that has been sealed for ages

If I take off the lead ring from my conscience

If I ran away

From the cellars of the harem in the palaces

If you rebel against my death...

on my grave

on my roots

And the big slaughterhouse

Do not be alarmed, sir!

If I reveal my feelings

The eastern man

He doesn't care about hair or feeling...

Eastern man

He does not understand women except inside the bed...

Excuse me.. Excuse me, sir

If you trespassed on the kingdom of men

Great literature, of course, has always been the literature of men and love

of the men's share

And sex has always been

A drug sold to men

The myth of women's freedom in our country

There is no freedom

Other than the freedom of men

Sir

Say what you want about me, I don't care, shallow, stupid, crazy, idiot, I don't care anymore

Because who writes about her worries..

In men's logic, a woman is a fool

Didn't I say at the beginning of the speech that I

foolish woman?

Along with my nerves

shresht..

In my flesh and my nerves.

And you possessed me with the intelligence of a squirrel

You sparked.. in my voice, and in my language

And my notebooks, and the threads of my dresses...

You sprayed me with sunshine and wellness

Your spring clothed all my doors.

I drink..even in the veins of my hands

And my needs.. and the glass of my cups..

You struck me with thunder and thunderbolt

And Sanabel, and vineyards grapes

I slashed.. until it became the hollow of my hand

Butterfly pasture..and herbs

The rain is falling.. from my lips..

And wheat grows above my eyelashes.

You've been slashed.. to the bone.. woman

So stop.. on my nerves..

He thinks

Do the hands I have played?

I am not thinking of going back to him

Today he came back as if nothing had happened

And the innocence of children in his eyes

To tell me: I am his companion

And that I am his only love

He carried flowers to me.. how do I return him

And my boy is drawn on his lips

I don't remember.. and the fires are in my blood

How did I resort to his elbow

I hid my head in front of him.. as if I were

A child returned to his parents

Even my dresses that I neglected

She was happy with him.. she danced on his feet

I forgave him.. and asked about his news

I cried hours on his shoulders

And without realizing, I left him my hand

To sleep like a sparrow in his hands..

And I forgot all my hatred in an instant

Who said I hated him?

How much I said that I am not returning to him

And I came back.. how nice it is to go back to it..

In the cafe

Gary took her seat

Like a rose pot in her reassurance

And a book in her hand

He reaps the bounty of her faith

The cup bounces from his eagerness

In my hand longing for her cup

Ah that sun hat

Summer panting on her strings

Round light on her knee

My soul shook from its corners

She is a drinker from her cup

I drink from her eyelids

The story of the eyes... enslaves me

Who saw the star in its flood

Every time I stared at her, I laughed

Snow bare in her teeth

Share with me the morning coffee.. no

Bury yourself in its bushes

I am your neighbor, madam

And God asks about her neighbors

Who am I.. Leave the questions to me

A palette looking for its colours

Appointment.. madam! And I smiled

She gave me her address.

I looked and only hinted

The blush print in her cup

The two sisters

The red pen.. his sister.. so

The honors of conjecture, my appointment with him

Where are my dyes.. my comb.. and my jewellery?

I am as strong as a whirlwind

Hand me the dress from its stand

It is the most wonderful brocade

Relax me.. beautify me.. color me

My pale fingernail I'm in a hurry

My socks are on fire..so did you save him?

From a hand about to cut him off

I did not lie to God.. as I claim

My heart was almost deserted

Mercy.. Oh Hind, did he spend it

I am amazed... distraught...

It's now.. to our date

Front.. sumptuous.. high

And a robe harvesting the sun... Joey

And mouth the color of the four seasons

I don't name him.. though his name is

The click of the oud.. and the scent of the farm

If you ask the feathers of his eyelids

I fear the cold with it.. to uproot it

Hind, focus on my work.. on me

Monitoring withdrawals my date with him