Diwan al-Layla wal-Majnuun: a poetic tale of love by nashid fareed-ma'at - HTML preview

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4.

 

they were barred from each other

by this enforced separation

she saved her tears for the concealment of night

night crying into the night

for the refuge of a new day

but his melancholy was an open display

that did not deny itself any shade of light

as he walked his body through the streets

the people would stare and say

“look, here comes the lunatic,

that majnuun

 

his madness so much encompassed

what madness is

that majnuun

became his name

as much as layla

was hers

 

his aimless appearances

would sometimes be announced

by sorrowful melodies pouring forth from his lips

his sight was obscured by an endless stream of tears

which could not conceive even the possibility

of an end to his suffering

and his heart,

invisible to the glares of others,

was like a split fruit laid open

the cruel air exhuming its fading life

to be an escort to decay

 

he became a fire that burned away

all that would extinguish it

a bloody, gaping wound

that ran from healing closure

a torment

for which there was no remedy

a leaf released from the tree

blown in any direction

by random twirling winds

without any control over itself

the more the misery persisted and deepened

the more qays became majnuun

no longer the self he was

he became even a stranger to himself

yet the bondage of pain and longing and madness

extracted a previously unknown poet from within

 

his suffering became the rhythm

the melody his pangs of love played upon

pronouncing verses of wonder and intrigue

this was the only reason he was not seized

and locked away

because at any moment,

his lamenting lull

could spontaneously become

a beautiful ode to love

that stirred those who heard such

into an ecstatic awe

even those who thought him mad

 

“i give song to love

cocooned within mine inconsolable agony

the heavens i petition

in hope that angels come to rectify this disaster

a travesty this is

created by humans who understand not love

let alone,

the truth hidden within their own hearts

 

“for if they did,

they would fight for me to be with layla

and even embrace martyrdom delivered for such

yet many of these same ears

are spectators to my tragedy

even moved as they are

by love’s flowing verse

emitting through my pains”

 

words such as these

served to remind the masses

of why so many humans

embrace the mystery of love

yet their remembrance, for the most part,

remained a passive sympathy

and resigned admiration

 

* * *

 

although she was within reach of his voice

it was as if she was many galaxies away

yet when she heard his words

she would become still and silent

as if peering for a star’s single light

within the folds of the concealing sunrays

her heart would fixate to absorb

the fullness of her lover’s calls

the explicit declarations

as well as the subtle

and unspoken

 

in these moments

it was as if she was with him

a cherished intimacy

that eventually dissipated

within the vastness

of their continuing physical separation

the memories of his poems

imprinted themselves in her mind

gems that kept him close to her bosom,

unbeknownst to him

 

but for him

although his words emanated from

the inner chambers of his heart

they only drove him further away

from all human connection

even from her

when others spoke to him

it was as if he was deaf

unless they said the name “layla”

that was the only word

that could break him from his spell

yet only for a moment

since he would quickly fall again

into this trance

that dominated his life

barefoot and uncouth,

he found himself more in the isolation of the desert

this seemed to be the only place

that matched the mood of his loneliness

alone yet drawn toward his beloved

starving yet only willing to eat that fruit denied him

imprisoned to his layla without a single chain

free to roam and call to her yet still in bondage

 

it was no coincidence

he found himself upon the barren sands

every night

where life is hard

where nothing grows except a strangled bush

here and there

there,

he would call out as many love poems

his mind and body could bear

but all in vain

since the desert yields no fruit or harvest

despite how many seeds you plant

and how much you till the sand

 

yet there would be those nights

when not even the threat of death

could deter him

from making pilgrimage to her prison tent

he would usually go alone

but occasionally

he would go with a few companions

fellow lovers afflicted by love’s torment

 

in the deep of the night

riding the swiftness and quietude of the desert gale

he would float to the threshold of her cell,

i mean, tent

and kiss the ground she had stepped upon

to steal a moment of peace for himself

 

his forehead pressed deeply into the soil

eyes closed, visualizing her footprint

his nose searching for even the most subtle scent

of her fragrance

or a drop of her perfume

or any smell that would remind him

of her

 

with repeated visits

what was first a quick bow

evolved into extended prostrations of silence

sometimes for hours

on bended knees

in proximity to his beloved

until the rooster cawed

the light of dawn beginning its approach

he knew he had to withdraw

with the withdrawing night

and he would leave, tortured in lament

each step pressing a thorn into his soul

 

this pattern of unknown visits continued

even after layla’s clan left the town

to resettle their camp

within the mountains of najd

their hope of dissuading

his unending public proclamations by relocating

quickly proved futile

for as they made their procession

to the more remote region

he stood upon an overlooking mount

and cried with longing voice to his beloved

 

“i wear no amulets to protect me

i hide not the jewel i seek

i veil not the wounds of my tortured heart

even as the world steals what is mine

oh layla,

if not to thee i had not already given my soul

i would toss it to the wind to scatter

among the battered dust of this world

the same wind i pray

will bring me a taste of thy breath

a glance from thine eye

a touch of thy bosom’s warmth

 

“oh layla,

how will i know that thou art thinking of me

as in the unhappiness of this separation i drown

i cannot even sleep because my soul knows no peace

everything else has become obsolete

for i will not allow anything

to distract me from my worship of thee

ay, i admit

for thee i have fallen into idolatry

from day to night and night to day

forever in devotion to thee i dwell

thou art the reason for mine existence

this truth i will deny not,

even if the world labels such

blasphemous lunacy”

 

although this gave rise to anger

among layla’s people

the beauty of his words could not be discounted

within the veiled howdah

containing the treasure pursued

there was a tear and a smile

acceptance of the bitterness and sweetness

fate was delivering her

and her beloved

 

“may our love endure, my beloved”

❍ ● ❍