By the great poet Iliya Abu Madi
People went out to buy holiday gifts
for their friends and their dear ones,
and I wished the world would lend me its aid,
that I might satisfy, this feast, some of my desires.
I would then give ratls of patience
to the essayists and the writers,
and to every brilliant genius,
a nation whose people have understanding minds,
and to every Arab poet,
a basket of the fruits of titles,
and to every merchant denied success,
two skins of the liar's juice,
and to every lover, an eye
that sees how much loveliness lies in the dust,
and to the beautiful maiden, a "mirror"
that shows her the inmost thoughts of bachelors,
and to the callow youth, practice,
and to the old man, a young man's resolve,
and to the tribe of idlers, palaces
of silver and gold in the clouds —
that I might perhaps have rest from them, for they have become
like my shadow in my coming and my going —
and to the rich man who dreads poverty,
an increase of the torment already within him:
whenever he counts his money, reassured,
he sees poverty standing at the door;
and to the shifty companion, a face
black and pitch-dark as the face of the crow,
so that when he appears, people flee in terror
from the path of the lying hypocrite;
and to the believers, a little doubt,
and some faith to the doubter,
and to him who reviles me behind my back, honor,
that he may guard it from my reviling,
and to those who envy me, a long life,
that their sorrow over what is mine may endure,
and to the field, its flowers and its adornments
of glistening dew and of grasses —
for it is unseemly that we put on brand-new robes
while the hills remain without clothes.
What I wished for was not mine; enough for me
that I have filled my flasks with wishes.
And had Time been possessed of a mind,
I would have offered Time my reproach.
