My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: al-Andalus

What Happened?-Poem

What happened to the glory of Islam;
to the scholars and poets of your
Golden Age?

Avecina your children despise you.
Ibn Zaydun your offspring mock you.

Darkness has fallen and
intolerable hatred grips the nations
in a desperate stranglehold.

Your mighty intellect and
ease of words have been
dashed to pieces.

What’s left?

Only ignorance
intolerance, and
a distant memory
of your glorious past.

Bloody and stillborn,
Your handmaidens
wail in the streets
pulling out their hair in
desperation.

Swayed by violence—
you dance to the beat
of bullets and bombs.

Sorrowed by the
graves you’ve produced.
None of your children say:

Our architecture was the splendor of the West
Our ingenuity and physicians cured the masses
Our poets inspired European’s best
We were the gate to the Renaissance—

In the name of Allah, the merciful
this shame needs to end!

Placer Medieval

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En al-Andalus—haiku

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Pleasure Of Wine—haiku

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Tree Of Peace

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Tenth Century Poets

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The Prince And His Falcon

In a time long ago,
A prince, heir to the throne
Bored by the mundane
Escaped to distant fields
Near his palace that lay over
The hill. There he and his beloved
Falcon perched and played.

The prince read his poetry
As the falcon swayed.

Then, he would gently run his
dark fingers through
His falcon’ soft feathers and whisper,
What do you see Abu my beloved pet?

What do you see my friend, when I release
You with your vision sharp?

What do you see when you soar from your
Heights over my vast kingdom?

Do you see the children play
And hear their joyful screams?

Can you hear old couples quarrel?

Do you see young lovers kiss?

Tell me Abu, how the river bends
And the soothing delicate music
the water makes
When it falls against glistening
rocks.

Tell me my friend, about
the scents the
Orange groves give,
Does it mix with the aroma of
mint that grows wild on the
Riverbanks?

Can you describe the music,
Can you describe the songs,
Tell me about the revelry
Induced by wine and the merry
heart.

But most of all Abu,
Tell me about the poets and
How they structure their lines?

What fanciful words do they use
To describe the morning light?

Tell me about the passion they
Use to describe romantic love.

Do they recite their poems in
the dark?

I will release you now my
Beloved friend, come back
To me with good words.

Remember,
You’re my eyes and ears
While I remain here
Trapped in my gilded
Cage.

{the falcon is released,
having flown for three days
it returns to his master’s arm then
begins to speak}

I flew the heights and width
of your kingdom sire.
The heaven’s air so
tranquil and pure,
from a certain height,
this is what saw…

Foreign armies sharpening
their glistening swords conspiring

against your family’s house.
Evil men picking ripened
fruit, leaving the land barren
of its orange groves.

I heard the poets crying, their
tears mixing with the foam of your
mint-lined Rivers.

People whispering in darkness
against the plurality
of your kingdom.

I saw your people walking—
destitute,
lined up in tumultuous exile,
uncontrollable weeping and wailing
became a new song.

Then there was silence,

the voices of your people, I heard
no more.

The Heir Speaks To His Falcon Part I

In a time long ago,
A prince, heir to the throne
Bored by the mundane
Escaped to distant fields
Near his palace that lay over
The hill. There he and his beloved
Falcon sat and played.

The prince read his poetry
As the falcon swayed.

Then, he would gently run his
dark fingers through
His falcon’ soft feathers and whisper,
What do you see Abu my beloved pet?

What do you see my friend, when I release
You with your vision sharp?

What do you see when you soar from your
Heights over my vast kingdom?

Do you see the children play
And hear their joyful screams?

Can you hear old couples quarrel?

Do you see young lovers kiss?

Tell me Abu, how the river bends
And the soothing delicate music
the water makes
When it falls against glistening
rocks.

Tell me my friend, about
the scents the
Orange groves give,
Does it mix with the aroma of
mint that grows wild on the
Riverbanks?

Can you describe the music,
Can you describe the songs,
Tell me about the revelry
Induced by wine and the merry
heart.

But most of all Abu,
Tell me about the poets and
How they structure their lines?

What fanciful words do they use
To describe the morning light?

Tell me about the passion they
Use to describe romantic love.

Do they recite their poems in
the dark?

I will release you now my
Beloved friend, come back
To me with good words.

Remember,
You’re my eyes and ears
While I remain here
Trapped in my gilded
Cage.

District 9 | The Gaza Syndrome

The reason why Gaza and other areas inhabited by regional Arabs has been turned into a ‘District 9’ type atmosphere is because, and only because, regional Arabs do not know how to control their aggressive and unnecessary war urges. If they would use the same energy to live side-by-side peacefully, like the Druze Arabs, the Middle East would be a world model of tolerance a second al-Andalus!

Instead regional Arabs have shown the world their contempt for order, peace and tolerance, and ultimately their ignorance. Instead, everyone who recently comes into contact with the al-Andalus historic model is stunned that the Arab culture has fallen so low. To the point that it’s “incredible” to most that Arab culture rose so high in the first place.

This is the shame of current contemporary Arab culture and values, their insurgent fanatical brothers have dissolved any kind of credibility for the rest of Arabs. The fate being that they are despised worldwide, a grotesque people who’s only motive in life is to bring darkness and mayhem to the World.

From Andalusian Conversations: Twice Exiled

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I’ve thought of you often
My friends—

Two palm trees planted
near my California house.
You remind me of al-Andalus

Of things I’ve never seen.

Instead, I’m here
In the New World,

Wishing I was back home.

Unlike in Rusafa,

We are twice exiled!

**************

This poem is inspired by:

A palm tree stands in the middle of Rusafa
Born in the West, far from the land of palms
I said to it, “How like me you are, far away and in exile!
In long separation from family and friends
You have sprung from soil in which you are a stranger
And I, like you, am far away from home”

–Abd al-Rahman (731–788), The Palm Tree (770 CE)(transl. D. F. Ruggles, Gardens, Landscape, and Vision in the Palaces of Islamic Spain (Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999))