You are the apple of my eye,
My heart’s delight:
I am remote from my valley,
To me you are the Burning Bush of Sinai!
You are a houri of the Arabian Desert,
Nursed by the Western breeze.
I feel homesick in exile,
You feel homesick in exile:
Prosper in this strange land!
May the morning dew quench your thirst!
The world presents a strange sight:
The vision’s mantle is torn apart—
May valour struggle with the waves if it must,
The other side of the river is not to be seen!
Life owes itself to the heat of one’s soul:
Flame does not rise from dust.
The Syrian evening’s fallen star
Shined brighter in the exile’s dawn.
There are no frontiers for the Man of Faith,
He is at home everywhere.
That blood of pristine vigour is no more;
That yearning heart’s power is no more;
Prayer, fasting, hajj, sacrifice survive,
But in thee nature’s old dower is no more.
Not: These verses from Abdul Rahman the First
are quoted in Tarikh al Muqqari. The
following Urdu poem is a liberal
translation (the tree mentioned here was
planted in Madinatut Zahra)