NUWAS, Abu


O companion of the radiant sun

O cupbearer whose cheek outshines the rising sun,

pour me the wine that sparkles like your eyes at dawn!

The morning star itself grows pale with envy of your face,

and the sun, ashamed, hides behind the tavern’s wall in disgrace.

I told the sun: “Go back! Your light is second-rate;

a single glance from him is worth a thousand of your rays.”

So let the day be night, and night be day again—

I have no use for daylight when his darkness fills my veins.

Drink, my soul, before the sun climbs high and burns away

the dew of pleasure clinging to the lips of yesterday.

Tomorrow we are dust, and dust does not remember wine;

tonight we are alive—so pass the cup, and let it shine!

The Last Poem

O Allah, if my sins become abundant

Then indeed I know Your Forgiveness is greater than my sins

And I supplicated in humility

And if You turn my hands away

Then who will be merciful to me?

If the only people that can have hope in You are the good-doers

Then who would the criminal, the sinner, and the evil turn to?

The only way I have to come to You is my hope in You

And Your beautiful forgiveness is that I am a Muslim.


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Come, my lord, let us rebel against the Despot of Heaven;

My proud soul will be content with nothing but the forbidden

I do not care when my cup of death will come;

I have already had my fill of the joys of the [wine] cup.


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Cheetah

I move through black cloud night—

Dark, at war with Dawn,

Quivers with a fine blade's sheen—

With a vigorous, widejaw cheetah

Thickneck, spine-welded-scapulae

Leanbelly in taut-twist well-rope body

Cheek-folds plump in a scowl,

Sheeny; black teardrops on masseters

Bactrian lungs in saffron ribcage

Heavy paws, bull neck, sudden dart

A lion but for the spotty coat

Alert for shapes that shift.

A long search sights two herds

On ground flat as a man's brow

He's off, a slow stalk,

A trap about to explode

Puff adder slither

Through ground high and low

Face to face with his prey now—

Havoc! He scatters them across the desert

Full stretch, full pelt

Greedy fury.

Why hunt with any creature but a cheetah?


Don’t cry for Layla

Don't cry for Layla, don't rave about Hind!

But drink among roses a rose-red wine,

A drought that descends in the drinker's throat,

bestowing its redness on eyes and cheeks.

The wine is a ruby, the glass is a pearl,

served by the hand of a slim-fingered girl,

Who serves you the wine from her hand, and wine

from her mouth — doubly drunk, for sure, will you be!


Love in Bloom

I die of love for him, perfect in every way,

Lost in the strains of wafting music.

My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body

And I do not wonder at his beauty.

His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,

And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek

I die of love for you, but keep this secret:

The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.

How much time did your creation take, O angel?

So what! All I want is to sing your praises.

In The Bath-House

In the bath-house, the mysteries hidden by trousers

Are revealed to you.

All becomes radiantly manifest.

Feast your eyes without restraint!

You see handsome buttocks, shapely trim torsos,

You hear the guys whispering pious formulas

to one another

('God is Great! ' 'Praise be to God! ')

Ah, what a palace of pleasure is the bath-house!

Even when the towel-bearers come in

And spoil the fun a bit.

Hunting Poem

Many a time I would go out early, dawn, with my hound

Looking to hunt with companions

We led him up rugged, high hills

Set him onto a flock of gazelles

They raced away, an open enticement, he poured his energy out

Slapping sand-dust against flank and underside

Until they were distracted in a thicket of thistles and shrubs

Whereupon he stole unto them

Splitting the herd in two as if

They were two wrapped rolls torn asunder

One swift, sand-colored stag urged that he run again

The hound ripped the sides away from his heart

He joined the stag’s muzzle to his jawbones

As two broken fragments are jointed together

Then turned to the rest of the flock

Like an eagle, wings soft on the wind, attacks in a craggy cleft

One stag plunging to his knees, weary, helpless

His mouth curled round toward his haunches

The hound went to mangling the beast in the soft-soiled earth

Going right to the discs in his back

These were my pleasures as a young man

I never said: enough. Enough of such pleasures.

Ghazal

In swearing by the sacred nip

On the upper arm

Lips pursed against

Cheek’s hollow

And by night’s thrall

Savored in pink waistcloths

Won’t you send for me a kiss today

Amulet against rejection?

Separation has dressed me in shrouds

Disintegration leads me to the grave