Man runs towards the grave, And rivers hasten to the great deep The end of all living is their death, And the palace in time becomes a heap. Nothing is further than the day gone by, And nothing nearer than the day to come, And both are far, far away From the man hidden in the heart of the tomb.
Many great men dwelt in that city their faces shone with pure faith they worked together to promote religion and belief in Allah in overt and covert ways. Many were renowned for their virtue and generosity, and jealously preserved their respectability.
And when darkness fell, you would see them deep in prayer like chaste monks in the garden of Eden, that honorable place among the beautiful houris and boys.
Thanks to its tribunes, Kairouan was ranked among the world’s greatest. She outranked Egypt—that was fair enough— and left Baghdad well behind. When the city greatly prospered and attracted ambitious pioneers, as she became a place for all virtues, as well as safety and faith, time looked at her with envious eyes and kept many sorrows in store —till destiny had decided to unleash the unavoidable: troubles caused by various clans that belonged to the Banu Hilal. They massacred the Prophet’s nation and defied Allah’s punishment during Ramadan. They violated former treaties and those under Allah’s protection without keeping their word. They preferred to deceive their neighbors and take their women as prisoners of war. They tortured them in the cruelest manner and let rancor show through their hearts. The Muslims were divided and humiliated at the hands of these unfaithful: some were tortured or could do nothing, others were killed or put in prison. They called for help but no help came, and when they couldn’t yell or cry anymore, they gathered all their belongings and valuables, whether gold, silver, pearls, rare ornaments, or crockery. They went out on bare feet, begging Allah to protect them and overcome their fear. They fled with their infants, their children, their widows, and their spouses. They kept their virgins safe like gazelles lest their beauty drive the enemy mad— chaste beauties covered with shawls like moons shining on willow trees.
Sorrow will never disappear after such calamity just as the eternal cycle of night and day will never end. If Mount Thahlan had suffered the tenth of it, its highest peaks would have crumbled! All the cities of Iraq mourned her, as did the villages of Syria, Egypt, and Khorasan. Affliction and sorrow even reached the farthest countries of the Sind and Hind, and the land turned into a desert from al=Andalus to Halwan. I saw the stars rise but they did not shine, nor did sun or moon. I saw mountains deeply afflicted, as were all humans and jinns. Even Earth, because of this heavy burden, has now a definite lean. Will the nights, after they had separated us, bring us together again? Will they restore the land of Kairouan and bring the city back to life again after time had stolen its beauty and caused bloodshed among rival clans? It stands now as if it had never known riches nor ever been a sacred land. Time has duped its people and cut off the ties that used to bind them. Now they are scattered, like Saba’s peoples, and err about the lands.
Poets Corner 