Nizar Qabbani's poetry about separation

Introduction

Separation is distance from those to whom our hearts have been connected for days and years, and this matter is difficult for us to bear its consequences because it is extremely sensitive and difficult, and the most beautiful thing we received about separation is the poetry written by Nizar Qabbani, and here in this article I collected for you the most beautiful poetry about separation and sadness and what Nizar Qabbani said. About separation, I hope you like it.

Poems of Nizar Qabbani

The following are excerpts from Nizar Qabbani’s beautiful poetry in which he talks about separation.

A poem of sadness kills me

Sadness kills me

And they kill me

And the injustice of a lover tortures me

Yes! What is this life

Which is all endless pain

Wounds that don't heal

And tears from the eyes running

I hurt my cheek

It made my bed rest

And robbed my sleep

Oh my heart

How patient you are

On the beloved, do not be reckless

Despite his many injustices

And his great wound

Which does not heal and does not go away

You still love him

Despite all the evils

You still adore him

Despite injustice and immorality

You still miss him

Despite his arrogance

My heart, my heart itches

For how long, for how long??

Tell me, for God's sake, how long?

This is patience

This is perseverance and endurance

How long will this vigil and contemplation last?

Until when with all this suffering and humiliation?

Stop this, stop

Remember it as you hated it

And leave what you leave

He was tortured as I was tortured

And darkened as it was darkened

And hurt as I was wounded

I suffered a lot

I was very patient with a lover who did not know

Love has meaning

Isn't it time for you, my love, to stop all this?

For God's sake, my heart

palm!

Poem Teach Me Your Love

Your love taught me to grieve

I have been in need for ages

For a woman who makes me sad

For a woman I cry in her arms

like a sparrow

For a woman to collect my parts

Like shards of broken crystal

Your love, my lady, taught me the worst habits

Teach me to open my cup a thousand times a night

I try the medicine of apothecaries and knock on the door of fortune-tellers

Teach me to leave my house to sweep the sidewalks

And I chase your face in the rain and in the lights of cars

Chasing your dress in the clothes of the unknown

I chase your spectrum

until

in advertisement sheets

Your love taught me how to wander for hours

In search of gypsy poetry that all gypsy women would envy

In search of a face, of a voice, which is all faces and sounds

Your love brought me, my Lady, into the cities of sorrows

Before you, I did not enter the cities of sorrows

I never knew that tears are human

And a person without sadness is a memory of a person

Teach me your love

Your love taught me to act like a boy

To draw your face with chalk on the walls

On the sails of the fishermen, on the bells, on the crosses

Teach me your love

How love changes the map of time

He taught me that when I love, the earth stops rotating

Your love taught me things

It was never considered

I read children's stories, I entered the palaces of the kings of the elves

And I dreamed that the daughter of the Sultan would marry me

Those eyes clearer than the water of the bays

And I dreamed of kidnapping her like knights

I dreamed that I was giving her pearl and coral necklaces

Your love has taught me, my lady, what a delirium is

Teach me how life passes and the Sultan's daughter does not come

Your love taught me how to love you in all things

A poem about sadness and me

I was addicted to my sorrows

I became afraid that we would not be sad

I was stabbed thousands of times

Until it became painful for me not to obey us

I was cursed in all languages

I became worried about not cursing us

I hung my poems on the wall

And my will was

That we would not be buried

All countries were similar

I don't see myself there

I don't see myself here

All the women looked alike

Maryam’s body is in the dark, just like Mona’s

My poetry was not a frivolous game

Or a moonwalk

I say poetry - Madam -

To know who I am

Gentlemen

I am traveling on a madam train

Do poets only ride on the trains of hardship?

I'm thinking of the invention of water

Poetry makes every dream possible

I am thinking of inventing the breast

Until the desert produces lilies after me

I am thinking of inventing the flute

So that the poor may eat after me (Meghna)

If they confiscate my childhood homeland from my hands

She made the poem a home

Gentlemen

The sky is very spacious

But the money changers who shared our inheritance

And share our homelands

And they shared our bodies

They didn't leave an inch for us

Gentlemen

She fought an era of unparalleled ugliness

And opened the rotting wound of my tribe

I don't care

With all the street vendors

And all the court clerks

And all those who made writing a craft

Like adultery

Gentlemen

Sorry if I worried you

I don't have to declare my repentance

It's me

poem told him

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

I do not 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?!

She cried about her 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

Today I have become insightful

so he cried

He said forgive me

Who am I for you to marry me?

But

before you leave me

I want you to promise me

To take good care of my eyes

N.Q's wonderful contradictions

And between love and love, I love you

And not one person said goodbye to me

And one will come

I search for you here and there

As if the only time is your time

As if all promises pour into your eyes

How can I explain this feeling that comes over me?

Morning, evening

How do you pass through the mind, like a dove?

When I am in the presence of the most beautiful women?

And between two promises, and two women

Between one train coming and another going

There are five minutes

I invite you to have a cup of tea before traveling

There are five minutes

I can reassure you a little

I complain to you about my little concerns

I curse time in it a little

There are five minutes

You changed my life a little

What do you call this dispersion?

This tear

This is a long, long torment

how does infidelity become a solution?

How can hypocrisy be beautiful?

And between the words of passion in all languages

There are words said for you

And poetry that scholars will associate with your era

There is time between wine time and writing time

The sea will be full of ears of corn

And between a drop of ink

And a drop of ink

There is time

We sleep together in it, between the breaks

Between fall and winter

There is a season that I call the crying season

The soul becomes closer to heaven than ever before

And in the moments when all women are similar

All the letters on the typewriter are the same

And that includes having sex

A quick hit on the typewriter

And in the moments when there are no situations

No love, no hate, no lightning, no thunder, no poetry, no prose,

There is nothing in it

I travel after you, enter all airports, ask all hotels

About you, you may happen to be in it

And in moments of despair, decline, fall, emptiness, emptiness

And in moments of the suicide of wishes and the death of hope

And in moments of contradiction

When the grains become, and love is against me

And the poems become against me

And it becomes - even the breasts that swore allegiance to me on the throne - against me

And in the moments when I wander the paths of sadness alone

I think about you for a few seconds

So my life becomes a rose garden

And in a few moments

When poetry surprises me without waiting

The minutes become pregnant with a thousand explosions

Writing becomes an act of suicide

You fly like a butterfly between the notebooks and the two fingers

How can I fight fifty years on two fronts?

How do I scatter my flesh on two continents?

How do I compliment others?

How do I sit with someone else?

How can I sleep with someone else? how?

And you are traveling through the veins of the hands

Among beauties of every gender and color.

And among the hundreds of faces that convinced me, and did not convince me

And there is between a wound that I am searching for, and a wound that is searching for me

I think of your golden age

The era of Manulia, the era of candles, and the era of incense

And I dream of your era being the greatest of all time

What do you call this feeling?

How do I explain this presence absence, and this absence presence

How can I be here and be there?

How do they want me to see them?

And there is no female on earth except you?

I love you when I am someone else's lover

And I drink to you when a woman takes me to dinner

My tongue always stumbles

So I shout your name when I call upon her

I keep myself busy while eating

Study the similarity between the lines of your hands

And between the lines of her hands

I feel like I am playing the role of a clown

When I put the silk shawl on her shoulders

I feel like I'm betraying the truth...

When I compare my longing for you and my longing for her

So what do you call this?

Double, fall, escape, abnormality, madness?

And how do I have you?

I claim she has...

I ask you to leave

Let's part ways

For the good of this love, my love

And our good

Let's part ways

Because I want my love to increase

I want you to hate me a little

Truly what we have

In memory of what was precious to both of us

Truly a wonderful love

It's still engraved on our mouths

It is still engraved on our hands

For the sake of the letters you wrote to me

Your face planted like a rose inside me

And your love remains on my hair and on my fingertips

For our memories

And our beautiful sadness and smile

And our love that has become greater than our words

Bigger than our lips

Truly the sweetest love story in our lives

I ask you to leave

Let's part sweethearts

The bird is in every season

It leaves the plateaus

And the sun, my love

You are sweeter when you try to be absent

Be in my life doubt and torment

Become a legend once

Once you were a mirage

Have a question in my mouth

The answer is not known

For a wonderful love

He lives in the heart and eyelashes

And to always be beautiful

And to be closer

I ask you to go

Let us part while we are in love

Let's part despite all the love and tenderness

Through tears, my love

I want you to see me

And through fire and smoke

I want you to see me

Let's burn, let's cry, my love

We have forgotten

The blessing of crying from time to time

Let's part

So that our love does not become habitual

And our longing is ashes

And the flowers wither in the pots

Be at peace, my little one

Your love still fills the eyes and conscience

I am still captivated by your great love

I still dream of you being mine

Oh my knight, you and my prince

But I, but I

I am afraid of my affection

I am afraid of my feelings

I'm afraid we'll get tired of our longings

I'm afraid of our connection

I'm afraid of our hugs

In the name of wonderful love

It bloomed like spring deep inside us

He shone like the sun in our eyes

In the name of the sweetest love story of our time

I ask you to leave

So that our love remains beautiful

So that it has a long life

I ask you to leave.

The most beautiful thing Nizar said

I not only loved you as a person, but I loved you as a country that I do not want to belong to anyone else.
I love you, I do not know the limits of my love, my nature is hurricanes, my emotions are torrent, and I know that I am tired, my friend, and I know that I am agitated, that I am a child, I love with my nerves, I love with my strength, I love with my whole being, no moderation, no reason.
I wish the feelings would be seen so that everyone who has the right to know his right.
I wander around the Arab world with nothing but a notebook. The police station sends me to the police station. The military sends me to the military, and I only carry a bird in my pocket. But the officer stops me and wants a passport for the bird. In my country, the word needs a passport. I stay lying down for hours waiting for the warden’s order. I stare at the bags. The sand and my tears are in my eyes, and in front of me a banner has risen that speaks of one homeland, of one people, and I am like a rat here, vomiting my sorrows, trampling all the chalk slogans, and I remain at the door of my country thrown like a broken mug.
Do not raise your voice, you are safe. Never discuss a gun or an individual ruler, you are safe. Be without color, taste, or smell. Be without an opinion or a major issue. Write about the weather, and about birth control pills (if you want), then you are safe. This is the law in Poultry farm.
Our history is nothing but a rumor. Where does joy come from? Our favorite color is black, our souls are black, our minds are black, our insides are black, even our whiteness tends towards black.
where does happiness come from? Every child in our country has the blood of Karbala running on his clothes, and in our country a thought is cheaper than a shoe, and the purpose of our world is sex and women.
I spent twenty years living in a sheep pen, feeding like sheep, sleeping like sheep, urinating like sheep, circling like a grain in the Imam’s rosary, repeating like a parrot everything the Imam said. I have no mind, no head, and no feet.
October has come, my beloved, the best time for love is October, and we have a date on Mount Hermon. How warm and affectionate the snow is. I haven’t hugged you for a long time. I haven’t talked to you and the conversation is sad. October has come. Your face is much prettier. What’s the secret of October? How did wheat ears become higher? How did your eyes become the house of swallows? The land of the Golan is like your eyes. It has flowing water, almonds and figs. Every wound has a garden of roses, spring and hidden pearls. O Damascus, wear a bracelet of my tears and make wishes, for everything is easy.
Do not curse the sky if it abandons you. Do not curse the circumstances, for God gives victory to whomever He wishes, and you do not have a blacksmith who makes swords.
Do not trust what history tells, my friend, for it is half a hallucination and half a speech. Our children do not have a childhood, our sky does not have a cloud, our lovers inhale the rose of depression, and our writers try to jump like mice from the trap of censorship.
Do you hear my longings when I am silent? Silence, my lady, is my strongest weapon. Have you ever felt the beauty of the things I say when I say nothing?
Your face is charming, but in passion, the beauty of a beautiful face is not enough.
Sometimes it happens that I cry like a child for no reason. It happens that I get tired of my eyes for no reason. It happens that I get tired of my words. It happens that I get tired of my own tiredness, and for no reason.
I read the book on femininity, letter by letter, and I still don’t know what goes on in women’s heads.
Do you have any doubt that you are the most beautiful woman in the world and the most important woman in the world? Do you have any doubt that when I found you, I had the keys to the world? Do you have any doubt that when I touched your hands, the composition of the world changed? Do you have any doubt that your entry into my heart is the greatest day in history and the most beautiful news in the world?
Would you allow me to teach my little girl that religion is about morals, etiquette, refinement, honesty, and honesty, before I teach her with which foot to enter the bathroom and with which hand to eat?
There is one culture, which is the culture of power. When I am strong, people respect my culture, and when I am weak, I fall and my culture falls with me.
I am a man who does not rest or rest, so do not accompany me on dark roads. My poetry is condemned, my prose is condemned, and my natural path is between poetry and court.
Do not you sit for another five minutes? There is a lot in the heart, and a lot of sadness, and it is not easy to kill emotions in moments and throw your love in the trash.
Don't ever worry about me if I'm sad, for I'm a winter man. If I'm broken, depressed, and folded in on myself, sadness invents women.