بغداد ما اشتبكت عليكِ الاعصرُ
إلا ذوت ووريق عمرك أخضرُ
مرّت بك الدنيا وصبحك مشمسٌ
ودجت عليك ووجه ليلك مقمرُ
وقست عليك الحادثات فراعها
حتى اذا جُنت سياط عذابها
راحت مواقعها الكريمة تسخرُ
فكأن كِبركِ اذ يسومك تيمرٌ
عنتاً – دلالُك اذ يضمك جعفرُ
وكأن نومك اذ اصيلك هامدٌ
سِنةٌ على الصبح المرفه تخطرُ
وكأن عيدك بعد الف محولةٍ
عيدُ افتتاحك وهو غض مثمرُ
لله انت فأي سرٍّ خالدٍ
أن تسمني وغذاء روحك يُضمرُ
ان تشبعي جوعاً وصدروك ناهدٌ
او تظلمي أُفقاً وفكرك نيرُ
بغداد بالسحر المُندى بالشذى ال
الفواح من حلل الصبا يتقطرُ
بالشاطئ المسحور يحضنه الدجى
فيكاد من حُرقِ الهوى يتنورُ
واذا تهدَّج بالرصافة صوتهُ
جفلت بمصر على صداه الاقصرُ
والان يا بغداد يأزف موعدٌ
لك في الخلود قلوبه تتنظرُ
من كل من اعطاك غضّ شبابه
ومضى بذابل عمرهِ يتعثرُ
يترقبونك : والطريق امامهم
جهم المسارب ضيقٌ مُستوعرُ
يبس الزمان وهم على اطرافه
عذب بما تَعدينه مُخضوضرُ
فتعهدي ما يأملون وانعشي
لقياهم فهم بمجدك اجدرُ
رفعوك من قطع القلوب وحقهم
منك الوفاء لهم بما هو اكثرُ
Ode of Baghdad
By Mustafa Jamal al-Din
Translated by Dr. Hana Al-Bayyati
Basrah, Iraq
Oh, Baghdad !
The eras had never
Interfered,
Unless they withered,
While the leaf of your age
Was green.
The world had passed
By you,
While your morning
Was sunny.
Darkness covered you,
While the face of your night
Was moony.
Events were cruel,
Wondering how your endurance
Was bigger
Than their harm.
Even when the lashes
Of its torture
Became crazy,
Their gracious traces
Derided.
Your age was
When Taymur
Ransomed
You forcibly,
And your fondness
Was when Jaafar
Embraced you gently.
The time of sleep was only
When you had a calm evening,
A method which blessed
Morning followed.
Your festive was
Still young and fruitful
For a thousand years.
For God sake,
What is behind
The secret
That you became fat,
While the food of your soul
Was little;
To be fully satisfied with hunger,
While your breast was fresh.
To have a gloomy horizon,
While your mind
Was shiny.
O Baghdad!
Your dewy enchantment
Is full fragrant perfume
Smell out of the girl’s garments.
Your enchanted beach
That embraces darkness
Is about to be enlightened
By the burning love.
If its sound quivers
At Ar-Rusafah,
Al-Auqsur, in Eygypt,
Is frightened
By its echo.
O Baghdad!
A date whose hearts
Are waiting for you
In eternity
Is now due;
Each is giving you
The prime of youth,
While passes stumbling
With its withering age.
They spy on you,
And the road in front of you
With its melancholic paths
Is narrow and untrodden.
Time dried
While the paths
Are fresh
And, what you call,
Greenish on its border.
You undertake
What they hope
And refresh their meetings,
For they are much better
With your glory.
They raised you
By broken hearts,
So they have the right
To show them loyalty
And more than loyalty.
