English Translation
Part One:
I restrained the tears within my eyelids, forbidding them to flow; yet when the waters raged, they breached every dam of patience.
O eastern breeze of Baghdad after its desolation, I wished that you would blow across my grave instead!
For to those of profound wisdom, the destruction of the soul is far dearer than living with a suffocating, broken chest.
I rebuked the physician who checked my pulse to heal me: “Away with you! My ailment is no sickness that can ever be cured!”
I clung to endurance whenever I faced separation, but this is a parting that patience can never heal.
You ask me of what befell on the day of their siege? That is beyond all counting and narration!
The cups of death were circulated until the heads of the captives reeled as if intoxicated with terror.
The Mother of Cities (Mecca) was bereaved, and the Kaaba shed tears from its rain-spout into the sacred Hijr!
The ancient walls of the Mustansiriya Madrasa wept in lamentation over the deeply rooted scholars of wisdom.
O calamities of fate! How I wish I had died before them, never witnessing the assault of the fool upon the scholar!
The inkwells weep after them with their black ink, while the hearts of some men are darker than any ink.
May God curse him who is showered with favors, yet when invaders strike, he turns to treacherous betrayal!
I traversed the firm, immovable mountains, weeping relentlessly, like Al-Khansa in her boundless grief for Sakhr.
O counselor of patience, leave me to my burning sighs! Is this a place for patience when livers rest upon red-hot coals?
My frame collapsed from continuous weeping, just as hollow, abandoned ruins collapse under rushing waters.
I stood at Abadan watching the Tigris River flow—like deep crimson blood pouring into the sea.
And the overflow of my tears at the tragedy of Wasit exceeds the surging tides of the lakes and oceans.
I unleashed the floods of my eyes only to burn more fiercely, as abscesses throb with burning pain at dawn.
Ask me not how my heart fares in distance; the wound in my chest cannot be measured by a surgeon’s probe.
Even if the seat of the kingdom were rebuilt and prosperous, and the face of the world washed of dust…
Explaining:
Istataala ‘ala al-sakr (Surging over the sakr): Al-sakr (with a fatha on the sīn and a sukūn on the kāf) refers to a dam or water barrier; a rhetorical simile likening the flood of tears to a torrent that breached the dams of patience and fortitude.
Ūlī al-nuhā (People of intellect): Those possessed of sound judgment and awareness; for the rational person prefers a dignified death to a subjugated, suffocating existence.
Tarjahinnu min al-sakar (Swaying from sakar): Staggering and leaning in a state of shock and terror; a depiction of the intoxication of death and the unknown fate that gripped the captives’ necks.
Al-Mustanṣiriyyah: The historic Al-Mustansiriya Madrasa in Baghdad—a beacon of learning, books, and knowledge repositories during the Abbasid era—whose very walls wept for its profound scholars.
Dhawī al-ḥujr (People of ḥujr): Al-ḥujr (with a ḍamma on the ḥā’) denotes intellect and sobriety; scholars are thus the embodiment of wisdom and insight.
Maḥābir tabkī bi-sawādihā (Inkwells weeping with their blackness): A beautiful personification of inkwells and calligraphy vessels; the black ink transforms into tears of grief for the masters of the pen—contrasting with the hearts of traitors, which are far blacker and darker than the ink itself.
Ka-Khansā’ ‘alā Ṣakhr (Like Al-Khansā’ over Ṣakhr): An evocation of the timeless symbol of grief in Arab heritage—Al-Khansā’—and her tragic loss of her brother, Ṣakhr.
‘Abbādān wa-Dijlah ka-mithl damin qānin (Abadan and the Tigris like deep-red blood): Abadan lies at the mouth of the Shatt al-Arab; the poet stands watching the Tigris River, stained by the color of deep-red blood and the ink of burning and drowned manuscripts.
Al-sabr (Probing): Examining a wound and feeling it with an instrument (a probe) to determine its depth. The wound of the soul lies too deep for the surgeon’s tools to reach.
Saadi Shirazi opens this epic with a torrential outpouring of tears that breached the dams of patience; he wishes that the breeze of wounded Baghdad might sweep over his grave to shroud him in dust, sparing him the sight of a civilization’s humiliation.
This section reveals the tragedy that befell the scholars and the pursuit of knowledge at the Mustansiriya Madrasa; inkwells are transformed into weeping entities, shedding their black ink in mourning for the intellectuals who were slaughtered and the books that were crushed—all while evoking the great betrayal that threw open the gates of the Caliphate to the Mongols.
The poet paints a harrowing picture of the Tigris River near Abadan—an Iranian city close to Basra, Iraq—flowing a deep, vivid crimson like an ocean of blood and ink, declaring that the wound of Baghdad is too profound for the surgeon’s scalpel to heal or for the mere passage of time to mend.
Arabic Text
حبَستُ بجَفنَيَ المدامِعَ لا تجري
فَلَمّا طَغى الماءُ استطالَ على السكرِ
نسيمَ صبا بغدادَ بعد خرابِها
تمَنَّيتُ لو كانت تَمُرُّ على قبري
لأنّ هلاكَ النفسِ عندَ أولى النُهى
أحَبُّ لهم من عيشِ منقَبِضِ الصدرِ
زجَرتُ طبيباً جسّ نبضى مداوياً
إليك فما شكوايَ من مرَضٍ يَبرى
لزِمتُ اصطباراً حيثُ كنتُ مفارِقاً
وهذا فراقٌ لا يعالجُ بالصبر
تُسائِلُني عمّا جرى يوم حصرَهِم
وذلكَ مما ليسَ يدخُلُ في الحصرِ
أديرَت كؤوسُ الموت حتى كأنّه
رُؤوسُ الأسارى ترجَحِنّ من السكرِ
لَقَد ثكِلَت أمّ القُرى ولكَعبةٍ
مدامِعُ في الميزابِ تسكُبُ في الحِجرِ
بكَت جُدُرُ المستَنصريّةِ نُدبَةً
على العلماءِ الراسخينَ ذوي الحُجرِ
نوائبُ دهرٍ ليتَني متُّ قبلَها
ولم أرَ عدوان السفيهِ على الحبرِ
محابِرُ تبكى بعدَهم بسوادِها
وبعض قلوبِ الناس أحلكث من حبرِ
لحى اللَهِ من يُسدى إليهِ بنِعمَةٍ
وعندَ هجومِ الناس يألَفُ بالغَدرِ
مرَرتُ بصُمِّ الراسياتِ أجوبُها
كخَنساءَ من فرطِ البكاءِ على صخرِ
أيا ناصحي بالصبرِ دعني وزَفرَتي
أمَوضِعُ صبرٍ والكُبودُ على الجمرِ
تهَدّمَ شخصي من مداوَمَةِ البُكى
ويَنهَدِمُ الجوفُ الدوارِسُ بالمخرِ
وقفتُ بعبّادانَ أرقُبُ دجلَةً
كمِثلِ دمٍ قانٍ يسيلُ إلى البحرِ
وفائضُ دمعي في مصيبَةِ واسِطٍ
يزيدُ على مدّ البحيَرةِ والجزرِ
فجَرتُ مياهَ العينِ فازدَدتُ حرقَةً
كما احترَقَت جوفُ الدماميل بالفجر
ولا تسألنّي كيف قلبُك والنوى
جراحةُ صدري لا تبَيًَّنُ بالسبرِ
وهب أنّ دار الملك ترجعُ عامراً
ويُغسَلُ وجهُ العالمين من العفر
