Arabic Poetry Quotes

“لعَمْرُكَ، ما الدّنيا بدارِ بَقَاءِ؛ كَفَاكَ بدارِ المَوْتِ دارَ فَنَاءِ
فلا تَعشَقِ الدّنْيا، أُخيَّ، فإنّما يُرَى عاشِقُ الدُّنيَا بجُهْدِ بَلاَءِ
حَلاَوَتُهَا ممزَوجَة ٌ بمرارة ٍ ورَاحتُهَا ممزوجَة ٌ بِعَناءِ
فَلا تَمشِ يَوْماً في ثِيابِ مَخيلَة ٍ فإنَّكَ من طينٍ خلقتَ ومَاءِ
لَقَلّ امرُؤٌ تَلقاهُ لله شاكِراً؛ وقلَّ امرؤٌ يرضَى لهُ بقضَاءِ
وللّهِ نَعْمَاءٌ عَلَينا عَظيمَة ٌ، وللهِ إحسانٌ وفضلُ عطاءِ
ومَا الدهرُ يوماً واحداً في اختِلاَفِهِ ومَا كُلُّ أيامِ الفتى بسَوَاءِ
ومَا هُوَ إلاَّ يومُ بؤسٍ وشدة ٍ ويومُ سُرورٍ مرَّة ً ورخاءِ
وما كلّ ما لم أرْجُ أُحرَمُ نَفْعَهُ؛ وما كلّ ما أرْجوهُ أهلُ رَجاءِ
أيَا عجبَا للدهرِ لاَ بَلْ لريبِهِ يخرِّمُ رَيْبُ الدَّهْرِ كُلَّ إخَاءِ
وشَتّتَ رَيبُ الدّهرِ كلَّ جَماعَة ٍ وكَدّرَ رَيبُ الدّهرِ كُلَّ صَفَاءِ
إذا ما خَليلي حَلّ في بَرْزَخِ البِلى ، فَحَسْبِي بهِ نأْياً وبُعْدَ لِقَاءِ
أزُورُ قبورَ المترفينَ فَلا أرَى بَهاءً، وكانوا، قَبلُ،أهل بهاءِ
وكلُّ زَمانٍ واصِلٌ بصَريمَة ٍ، وكلُّ زَمانٍ مُلطَفٌ بجَفَاءِ
يعِزُّ دفاعُ الموتِ عن كُلِّ حيلة ٍ ويَعْيَا بداءِ المَوْتِ كلُّ دَواءِ
ونفسُ الفَتَى مسرورَة ٌ بنمائِهَا وللنقْصِ تنْمُو كُلُّ ذاتِ نمَاءِ
وكم من مُفدًّى ماتَ لم يَرَ أهْلَهُ حَبَوْهُ، ولا جادُوا لهُ بفِداءِ
أمامَكَ، يا نَوْمانُ، دارُ سَعادَة ٍ يَدومُ البَقَا فيها، ودارُ شَقاءِ
خُلقتَ لإحدى الغايَتينِ، فلا تنمْ، وكُنْ بينَ خوفٍ منهُمَا ورَجَاءُ
وفي النّاسِ شرٌّ لوْ بَدا ما تَعاشَرُوا ولكِنْ كَسَاهُ اللهُ ثوبَ غِطَاءِ”
― أبو العتاهية

“عارف يارب ..
انا لسّه مقولتش على كذا سِر
انا لسه مقولتش ولا حاجه
ولإن الطيبه ساعات بتعِر
بطّلت أفكر بسذاجه
بطلت أتعلق الماشيين
أو أحب يحبنى بنى آدمين
بطلت أعوز أصلا حاجه !”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“هل تعلم أنك أحيانا ..
بتحس بإنك مش حاسس ؟!
وكإنك خدت فـ إحساسك
100 حقنة بنج ..
وضلوعك بقوا حبة خُرده
وتشوف الدنيا بعين بارده
ويتحول قلبك يومها لتلج
والناس يتساووا قصاد عينك
وتشوف الفارق مش فارق
وتشوف اللمه بتفكك
وتشوف الحلو ملوش قيمه
وكإنك قاعد فـ السيما ..
وحياتك فيلم قديم شوفته
ولذلك بقى مش بيضحك !”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“ياللى انتو قاعدين فـ السما ! ..
بقالكوا فتره مزورتونيش فـ الحلم ليه ؟!
يا جدتى : طب عامله إيه ؟!
أخبارك ايه فـ الجنه من بعد الممات
دانا لسه فاكر كل قاعده قعدتها
وياكى نحكى بالساعات
من بعد موتك حبى للشاى
قل خالص ..
يمكن عشان الشاى أساسا
حلاوته كانت فـ إجتماعنا
مبقتش أحس لأوضتك المقفوله
معنى ..
وكرهت حتى الوقفه فـ الشباك
انا روحت مره بعد موتك بعدها
مبقتش عايز أروح هناك”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“يا موطناً في ثراه غاب سادته* لوكان يخجل من باعوك ما باعوا”
― إبراهيم طوقان, الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة: إبراهيم طوقان

“هَذا الّذي تَعرِفُ البَطْحاءُ وَطْأتَهُ، وَالبَيْتُ يعْرِفُهُ وَالحِلُّ وَالحَرَمُ
هذا ابنُ خَيرِ عِبادِ الله كُلّهِمُ، هذا التّقيّ النّقيّ الطّاهِرُ العَلَمُ
هذا ابنُ فاطمَةٍ، إنْ كُنْتَ جاهِلَهُ، بِجَدّهِ أنْبِيَاءُ الله قَدْ خُتِمُوا
وَلَيْسَ قَوْلُكَ: مَن هذا؟ بضَائرِه، العُرْبُ تَعرِفُ من أنكَرْتَ وَالعَجمُ
كِلْتا يَدَيْهِ غِيَاثٌ عَمَّ نَفعُهُمَا، يُسْتَوْكَفانِ، وَلا يَعرُوهُما عَدَمُ
سَهْلُ الخَلِيقَةِ، لا تُخشى بَوَادِرُهُ، يَزِينُهُ اثنانِ: حُسنُ الخَلقِ وَالشّيمُ
حَمّالُ أثقالِ أقوَامٍ، إذا افتُدِحُوا، حُلوُ الشّمائلِ، تَحلُو عندَهُ نَعَمُ
ما قال: لا قطُّ، إلاّ في تَشَهُّدِهِ، لَوْلا التّشَهّدُ كانَتْ لاؤهُ نَعَمُ
عَمَّ البَرِيّةَ بالإحسانِ، فانْقَشَعَتْ عَنْها الغَياهِبُ والإمْلاقُ والعَدَمُ
إذ رَأتْهُ قُرَيْشٌ قال قائِلُها: إلى مَكَارِمِ هذا يَنْتَهِي الكَرَمُ
يُغْضِي حَياءً، وَيُغضَى من مَهابَتِه، فَمَا يُكَلَّمُ إلاّ حِينَ يَبْتَسِمُ
بِكَفّهِ خَيْزُرَانٌ رِيحُهُ عَبِقٌ، من كَفّ أرْوَعَ، في عِرْنِينِهِ شمَمُ
يَكادُ يُمْسِكُهُ عِرْفانَ رَاحَتِهِ، رُكْنُ الحَطِيمِ إذا ما جَاءَ يَستَلِمُ
الله شَرّفَهُ قِدْماً، وَعَظّمَهُ، جَرَى بِذاكَ لَهُ في لَوْحِهِ القَلَمُ
أيُّ الخَلائِقِ لَيْسَتْ في رِقَابِهِمُ، لأوّلِيّةِ هَذا، أوْ لَهُ نِعمُ
مَن يَشكُرِ الله يَشكُرْ أوّلِيّةَ ذا؛ فالدِّينُ مِن بَيتِ هذا نَالَهُ الأُمَمُ
يُنمى إلى ذُرْوَةِ الدّينِ التي قَصُرَتْ عَنها الأكفُّ، وعن إدراكِها القَدَمُ
مَنْ جَدُّهُ دان فَضْلُ الأنْبِياءِ لَهُ؛ وَفَضْلُ أُمّتِهِ دانَتْ لَهُ الأُمَمُ
مُشْتَقّةٌ مِنْ رَسُولِ الله نَبْعَتُهُ، طَابَتْ مَغارِسُهُ والخِيمُ وَالشّيَمُ
يَنْشَقّ ثَوْبُ الدّجَى عن نورِ غرّتِهِ كالشمس تَنجابُ عن إشرَاقِها الظُّلَمُ
من مَعشَرٍ حُبُّهُمْ دِينٌ، وَبُغْضُهُمُ كُفْرٌ، وَقُرْبُهُمُ مَنجىً وَمُعتَصَمُ
مُقَدَّمٌ بعد ذِكْرِ الله ذِكْرُهُمُ، في كلّ بَدْءٍ، وَمَختومٌ به الكَلِمُ
إنْ عُدّ أهْلُ التّقَى كانوا أئِمّتَهمْ، أوْ قيل: «من خيرُ أهل الأرْض؟» قيل: هم
لا يَستَطيعُ جَوَادٌ بَعدَ جُودِهِمُ، وَلا يُدانِيهِمُ قَوْمٌ، وَإنْ كَرُمُوا
هُمُ الغُيُوثُ، إذا ما أزْمَةٌ أزَمَتْ، وَالأُسدُ أُسدُ الشّرَى، وَالبأسُ محتدمُ
لا يُنقِصُ العُسرُ بَسطاً من أكُفّهِمُ؛ سِيّانِ ذلك: إن أثَرَوْا وَإنْ عَدِمُوا
يُستدْفَعُ الشرُّ وَالبَلْوَى بحُبّهِمُ، وَيُسْتَرَبّ بِهِ الإحْسَانُ وَالنِّعَمُ”
― الفرزدق, ديوان الفرزدق

“و بُلْغَةُ العارِ عند الجوع تلفِظُها نفسٌ لها عن قبولِ العار ردَّاعُ”
― إبراهيم طوقان, الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة: إبراهيم طوقان

“ومع مرور الأيام،
أحببتُ ما كنتُ أكره،
وألفتُ ما كنتُ أبغض،
وتخليتُ عمّا كنتُ أعشق،
حتى بتُّ أسأل من أكون؟

As the days passed,
I grew fond of what I once despised,
found comfort in what once unsettled me,
and let go of what once defined my soul —
until I was left wondering who I had become.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“لم يكن لقاءً عابرًا، بل لعنةً سكنت روحي… وكل محاولات الشفاء منها، ذهبت هباءً.

It wasn’t just a passing encounter, but a curse that took hold of my soul… and every attempt to heal from it was in vain.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“كنتُ أرى مفترق الطُرقِ من بعيد، لكن شوقكِ للرحيلِ، وجفاءِ تعلقكِ، لم يتركا لي سببًا أقاتلُ لأجلكِ.

I saw the crossroads from afar, but your longing to leave and the coldness of your attachment left me with no reason to fight for you.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“(Twins in the Wound)
It took me years to understand that we didn’t love each other because we were conventionally compatible or in perfect harmony, but because we were broken and shattered in the same exact places…
We are twins in the wound, abandoned and banished by our families when they discovered we refused to play by the rules of the overwhelming—and overwhelmed—majority…
And so, my love, I hid you from everyone, not out of shame, but out of dread of the tyranny and ignorance of the rabble…
From your hidden love I learned that only love which quietly masters the art of hiding from watchful eyes and hypocrites survives in the end…
May 15, 2024”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“(Beware of Strangers)
As children, we are taught to beware of strangers, to refrain from approaching them.

As we grow older, we learn that no one is stranger than those we thought we’d known all our lives.

We learn that a stranger may carry more empathy, and understand us more deeply, and that affections from a stranger may be more sincere.

So, I ask: Can humanity and strangeness be synonymous? Could we say, 'I am a stranger; therefore I am'?

Can we truly feel alive without strange things, strange encounters, without strangers reminding us that our hearts and minds are still beating?

They teach us to avoid strangers, yet life teaches us that human awareness can only be born of the dagger of strangeness… that life is tasteless without mingling with strangers… that familiarity is opposed to life!

Thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born; a stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate the day I become familiar.

October 29, 2022”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“(Donor Countries)
When are we going to understand that donor countries never give anything for free?

When are we going to realize that only those with the largest role in destruction offer themselves as benefactors?

They donate merely to reshape societies and ravaged lands according to their whims and desires…

Their sole aim is to keep the defeated, the marginalized, the disempowered, and the impoverished in that state for as long as possible…

When are we going to see that the quickest way to name the world’s greatest criminals is simply to scan the list of donor countries?

November 12, 2022”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“(A Flock of Geese)

She often wondered why an inexplicable sorrow wells within her each time a flock of geese takes to the sky…

Do their flights remind her that she has wasted her life in the trivialities of daily existence? Or do they hint that she has lost her own capacity to fly?

Sometimes, in her sadness, she reflects on years poured out like a naïve bride dreaming of the perfect groom— planning every minute detail until her wings were clipped, unaware that the bride, the groom, the wedding are roles society invented to tether those who yearn to build new worlds rather than hang in one made for them by others.

When the honking of another passing flock echoes overhead—just as her most beautiful years flew by— that cry ignites in her an uncontrollable urge to depart, to reject the illusion of home and stability, the wedding and the groom, the guests dancing through the night celebrating the clipping of her wings…

December 14, 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Are You Afraid of Sadness?”

In an old interview with a famous and talented Iraqi actress, the interviewer asked, 'Why are you afraid of sadness?'

The actress responded, 'I am afraid of it because it quickly takes you to a place from which you can never return.'

And exactly as she answered, insightful viewers could feel the sadness on her face, indicating that the actress herself wasn’t truly present in the interview— sadness had long since taken her, with no return.

November 19, 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Barbie”

Through my many long travels I’ve seen women reading books on planes, buses, and trains…

Over the years, three titles caught my eye, each in the hands of women who looked—or tried to look—like the Barbie doll.

I don’t recall the exact names, but one was along the lines of ‘How to Keep Your Husband’ or ‘How to Preserve Your Marriage.’

The second warned of ‘Signs He’s Cheating on You,’

and the third promised how to get rid of him—and move on.

It felt as if these three titles mapped out the lifecycle of every woman who lets herself play Barbie.

And I often wonder: wouldn’t reading ‘How to Stop Playing the Barbie Role in Love and Life’ be enough to solve all the problems those books claim to fix?

[Original poem published”
― Louis Yako

“Silent Messages – 2”
She sat at the crowded bus terminal, rearranging the contents of her disorganized handbag.

When she lifted her head for a moment, her eyes fell on a young couple kissing, touching, and hugging in a performative, exaggerated manner.

As they noticed her, the young woman cast a mean, malicious look— as if to ask, ‘Are you jealous of all the love that surrounds me?’

She returned the glance with a sly one, as if replying, ‘Love that must parade itself in public is either immature, dead, or dying…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“A Sweet Woman from a War-Torn Country”

In her exile, they often describe her as that ‘sweet woman from a war-torn country.’

They don’t know she loved smelling roses, picking spring wildflowers, and bringing them home after long walks.

They don’t know about the first kiss her lover stole during a church power outage on that Easter evening— before the generators came on.

They don’t know the long hours she spent under the ancient walnut tree in her village, waiting for her grandfather’s call to share freshly baked pita with ghee and honey.

They don’t know about her grandmother’s mixed grains, prepared each year before Easter fasting began.

In exile, they try to be kind, telling her she now lives in a ‘safe haven.’ They assume her silence comes from poor language skills or simple agreement with them.

They don’t know life’s shocks have silenced her forever. Now she presses her ear against the cold window glass of her apartment, listening to the wind’s mournful cry outside.

They remind her she’s among people who honor all values, beliefs, religions, and ethnicities— but she has learned it’s all too late.

She no longer needs assurances. Occasionally, all she asks for is a sincere hand on her shoulder or around her neck, to remind her that nothing lasts, that this too shall pass.

[Published on April 7, 2023 on CounterPunch.org]”
― Louis Yako

“The Democracy of the Naïve”
There are still those naïve souls who talk of democracy— they even claim the future of democracy in this country or that is in danger…

As if democracy ever had a past or a present, and could therefore threaten its own future…
There was never democracy or justice, my friends; this world has always been—and will remain— ruled by the whims of elites and invisible hands that guide naïve publics to see the problems, desires, and agendas of the chosen few as noble causes worth struggle and revolution…

There is no democracy nor true revolution, my friends, except the silent ones that must unseat the elites who secretly push naïve publics to install or remove this government or that for their hidden interests…

What do you think, my friends? Do you still believe the future of democracy is in danger?”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Lights”

Lights of churches, monasteries, Christmas trees, and magnificent mosques.

The dim lights inside warm houses in every foreign city where I wandered alone.

The far-away headlights of cars crossing bridges, watched from the windows of dreary hotels on clear, moonlit nights.

Candlelight and lanterns, the lights of small shops in ancient, forgotten alleys, the lights of ships sailing to places I will never see, lamp-post lights on dark, rainy winter nights, solitary lighthouses and the lights of unknown fishermen, the glittering lights I saw in the eyes of kind strangers in cities tourists never visit.

All these lights I once loved now break me; they remind me of the magical light that was extinguished in your eyes…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“They Say the World Will End Soon"
They say the nuclear weapons—born of fear of the other— have become a curse, a plague, a scourge upon those who built them, even more than those they were meant to threaten…

And I wonder: Will nuclear weapons bring about the end of the world? Or will it be humanity’s fear, complicity, and quiet submission?

If what they say is true, before the world ends—and before I die— I wish to drink one last cup of cardamom-flavored tea, to taste one final fig, peach, or apricot, to inhale the scent of a quince, to dip one last piece of bread into Palestinian thyme and olive oil…

Before the world ends, I want to smell pine needles, and breathe the scent of the season’s first rain after a long, dry summer.

Before the world ends—and before I die— I long to read one more book from the thousands still waiting for me.

I ask for one more spring to inhale bunches of Iraqi narcissus. And one more autumn to marvel at the dying leaves— defying death with beauty just before falling upon the indifferent ground.

But most of all, my final wish before I die is that my death not be the end of the world…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Arabs & Garbage"
Strange is the Arab story with garbage— who told them, who taught them to toss waste carelessly, wherever and however they please?

When will Arabs understand that putting garbage in its proper place could solve half of their environmental and societal woes?

And the other half? That too would vanish if they stopped casting away their human gems— their brightest minds, forced to serve others abroad.

When will they stop discarding their best in favor of foreign refuse they glorify simply because it comes draped in white skin and blue eyes, boasting skills they claim Arabs can’t survive without?

When will they grasp that real change lies in placing all garbage— be it those who govern them or those they import— exactly where it belongs?”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Departure"
Everyone wants to leave— those here long to be there, and many there ache to return here…

There are some who’ve grasped that living is impossible neither here nor there— so they search, in vain, for alternatives.

Few have come to understand that this impossibility of living stems not from geography, but from complicity.

Most who stay or go never part ways with their surrender and quiet compliance— and so they recreate, everywhere they settle, the same conditions and reasons for departure.

Few have realized that all places will remain unlivable as long as the urge to leave is born from a complicit, defeated self…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Losers"
Losers are closer to my heart, because they were right...

Because integrity doesn’t win the way it does in shallow Hollywood scripts. Integrity always loses— too many fear it, too many sell out, and too many find its demands too heavy to carry.

I love losers because they were right.

I, too, once placed my bet on humanity— and I lost.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Death by Starvation or Boredom”
Many toil for scraps and cheap wages, surviving one fragile breath at a time— just one more breath...

While others, bloated with excess, labor only to escape boredom, pretending they’re saving a world drowning in the greed they created, and the power they refuse to let go.

The first walks a tightrope between breath and hunger. The second, cushioned by comfort, drifts closer to spiritual starvation, their soul numbed by excess.

And here lies the cruel symmetry— fate, with its blunt hands, levels the field by offering death either way: starvation... or boredom.

But the greatest tragedy belongs to those who die of both.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“etc.”
I’ve searched for my self everywhere— in things I’ve loved and hated, in the faces of strangers and familiars, in foreign cities and forgotten alleyways.

I’ve wandered near water springs, along riverbanks, through olive groves and wildflower fields, but not even a whisper of myself remains.

I’ve peered into teacups in dusty corners of cafés, in songs and interludes, in books stacked like old regrets, in memories—mine and borrowed— among the betrayed, and the betrayers.

I’ve searched in sentences, and even deeper, in the liminal space behind each “etc.”— where endless suggestions trail off and identity becomes suggestion, then abstraction.

Each time I ask my loved ones how to find what I’ve lost, they offer long lists: places, things, hobbies, people— all ending in “etc.” But they don’t understand: I’ve overturned every rock beneath that word.

And now, I know: my self was never here. I wasn’t lost... I was never found.

Just chasing the illusion that something whole ever existed.

[Original poem published in Arabic on March 11, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Hand Watches”
I opened the drawer where I store old keepsakes and tokens. My eyes paused on hand watches with dead batteries, frozen in time…

Gifts from teachers and friends— offered to honor my accomplishments, to praise my respect for time.

It never occurred to them, or to me, that Time could die of a heart attack— that it would cease to matter the day my homeland was occupied and destroyed.

The day the plunderers —both foreign and within— colluded to burn and erase all that was beautiful.

Since then, I’ve refused to wear hand watches, and I never will until my people reclaim their Time and dignity.

And when that day comes, Time will no longer matter. For then, I will become— a butterfly, a sparrow, a daffodil or an orange blossom, perhaps an apricot blossom on a branch, an unstoppable stream of water flowing beyond time and timing.

In that same drawer, I found pens that had run dry, like mummified corpses.

In a moment of despair, a lightning bolt of realization struck me— leaving behind a terrifying question:
What if this is a wound that no amount of time can heal— a cause so vast that all the world’s ink cannot write its cure?”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Sorrow in the Heart of an Apple”
I tidied my old sorrow, wrapped it gently in scented cloth, and buried it beneath the apple tree in our village orchard.

Seasons rolled by... And I believed it was finished, forgotten, even the burial site lost to memory.

Then came harvest.

I plucked a red apple— shiny, luscious, radiant with promise.

But with the first bite, I tasted it.

That same sorrow, aged but unmistakable.

It had not only survived— it had multiplied.

Now here I am, face to face again,

finding it in the heart of every apple.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Taxi Driver”
There’s a strange kind of liberation in being just a taxi driver— the freedom tucked inside that word: just.

Because you’re just a driver, no one truly sees you. Yet you see it all— the absurdities, the shallows, the beauty, sorrow, joy, heartbreak—passengers unknowingly exposed.

They grant you a diluted respect, sometimes half-fake, sometimes not at all— because you’re just a taxi driver.

But they leave you be. No one's scheming to steal your seat. They want you in that seat. They ride with you because, for now, it’s a seat they don’t desire.

Still, like all fleeting liberations, this too carries disappointment— a bittersweet sting.

You realize the only reason they leave you alone is because you've escaped into a seat they never wanted in the first place. And that hurts.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Don’t talk to me about the bright side,
for if it were bright,
I would have seen it,
and there would be no need for you to show it to me…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]