Jadakal Ghaith - The Memories of Andalusia
May the pouring rain shower its blessings upon you, O golden time of sweet reunion in Andalusia! Our time together was nothing but a fleeting dream, Caught in a deep slumber, or a moment stolen in haste.
When destiny gathered our scattered desires, And we blindly walked the path our fates had drawn. The gardens were bathed in a radiant, golden glow, And the blooming buds smiled in pure delight. The red anemones whispered tales of the weeping rain, Dressed by nature in a robe of exquisite hues, Flaunting the most mesmerizing of garments.
Ah, those nights! The darkness hid the secrets of our love, Had the brilliant stars not betrayed our cover! The chalice of joy overflowed among us, A pure delight, without a single flaw, Except that it vanished in the blink of an eye! Just as we reached the peak of ecstasy with honeyed lips, The dawn attacked us like a ruthless guard.
When the flowing streams whispered to the pebbles, And every lover retreated in solitude with their beloved, You would see the rose turning fiercely jealous, Blushing deep red in its silent, burning rage. And you would see the fragrant myrtle, clever and sharp, Eavesdropping like the pricked ears of a vigilant steed.
O beloved dwellers of the distant valley! In my heart, you have an eternal, sacred home. My longing for you is so vast, it chokes the wide horizon, Making the east and the west feel unbearably small. Bring back those glorious days of joy, And set your captive free from this endless torment! Have mercy, and breathe life into this desperate lover, Who is fading away, breath by trembling breath.
In my heart dwells one who feels so intimately close, Yet in reality, is impossibly far. A radiant moon rising from the western sky, With enchanting eyes and sweet, honeyed lips, Roaming through my soul like my very own breath. He aimed his arrow, called out my name, and struck, Leaving my heart as a helpless prey to the hunter.
Even if he wrongs me, and all my hopes are shattered, Even if my heart melts in the agony of yearning, He remains the first and foremost love of my soul. In the realm of love, the beloved is forever free of blame. His every command is carved deep into my ribs, Ruling fiercely over a fragile, surrendered heart.
What has become of my poor heart? Every time the eastern breeze blows, It awakens the fresh agony of ancient memories. Like a roaring fire caught in dry, brittle twigs, It burns endlessly through the ribs of my chest. Leaving nothing alive inside my soul, Just as the dawn wipes away the last traces of the dark.
O my soul! Surrender now to the decree of Fate, Fill your moments with repentance and return to your Lord. Let go of the memories of a time long passed, Leave behind the complaints and the silent sorrows, And bow your head to the Most Merciful.
By: Lisan al-Din Ibn al-Khatib