Sultan
If I were promised safety,
if I could meet the Sultan
I would say to him: O my lord the Sultan!
my cloak has been torn by your ravenous dogs,
your spies are following me all the time.
Their eyes
their noses
their feet are chasing me
like destiny, like fate
They interrogate my wife
and write down all the names of my friends.
O Sultan!
Because I dare to approach your deaf walls,
because I tried to reveal my sadness and
tribulation,
I was beaten with my shoes.
O my lord the Sultan!
you have lost the war twice
because half our people
has no tongue.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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Related quotes
Verse
Friends
The old word is dead.
The old books are dead.
Our speech with holes like worn-out shoes is dead.
Dead is the mind that led to defeat.
2
Our poetry has gone sour.
Women's hair, nights, curtains and sofas
Have gone sour.
Everything has gone sour.
3
My grieved country,
In a flash
You changed me from a poet who wrote love poems
To a poet who writes with a knife
4
What we feel is beyond words:
We should be ashamed of our poems.
5
Stirred by Oriental bombast,
By boastful swaggering that never killed a fly,
By the fiddle and the drum,
We went to war,
And lost.
6
Our shouting is louder than our actions,
Our swords are taller than us,
This is our tragedy.
7
In short
We wear the cape of civilisation
But our souls live in the stone age
8
You dont win a war
With a reed and a flute.
9
Our impatience
Cost us fifty thousand new tents.
10
Dont curse heaven
If it abandons you,
Dont curse circumstances,
God gives victory to whom He wishes
God is not a blacksmith to beat swords.
11
It's painful to listen to the news in the morning
It's painful to listen to the barking of dogs.
12
Our enemies did not cross our borders
They crept through our weaknesses like ants.
13
Five thousand years
Growing beards
In our caves.
Our currency is unknown,
Our eyes are a haven for flies.
Friends,
Smash the doors,
Wash your brains,
Wash your clothes.
Friends,
Read a book,
Write a book,
Grow words, pomegranates and grapes,
Sail to the country of fog and snow.
Nobody knows you exist in caves.
People take you for a breed of mongrels.
14
We are a thick-skinned people
With empty souls.
We spend our days practicing witchcraft,
Playing chess and sleeping.
Are we the 'Nation by which God blessed mankind'?
15
Our desert oil could have become
Daggers of flame and fire.
We're a disgrace to our noble ancestors:
We let our oil flow through the toes of whores.
16
We run wildly through the streets
Dragging people with ropes,
Smashing windows and locks.
We praise like frogs,
Turn midgets into heroes,
And heroes into scum:
We never stop and think.
In mosques
We crouch idly,
Write poems,
Proverbs,
Beg God for victory
Over our enemy
17
If i knew I'd come to no harm,
And could see the Sultan,
This is what i would say:
'Sultan,
Your wild dogs have torn my clothes
Your spies hound me
Their eyes hound me
Their noses hound me
Their feet hound me
They hound me like Fate
Interrogate my wife
And take down the name of my friends.
Sultan,
When I came close to your walls
and talked about my pains,
Your soldiers beat me with their boots,
Forced me to eat my shoes.
Sultan,
You lost two wars,
Sultan,
Half of our people are without tongues,
What's the use of a poeple without tongues?
Half of our people
Are trapped like ants and rats
Between walls.'
If i knew I'd come to no harm
I'd tell him:
'You lost two wars
You lost touch with children.'
18
If we hadn't buried our unity
If we hadn't ripped its young body with bayonets
If it had stayed in our eyes
The dogs wouldn't have savaged our flesh.
19
We do not want an angry generation
To plough the sky
To blow up history
To blow up our thoughts.
We want a new generation
That does not forgive mistakes
That does not bend.
We want a generation of giants.
20
Arab children,
Corn ears of the future,
You will break our chains,
Kill the opium in our heads,
Kill the illusions.
Arab children,
Don't read about our suffocated generation,
We are a hopeless case.
We are as worthless as a water-melon rind.
Dont read about us,
Dont ape us,
Dont accept us,
Dont accept our ideas,
We are a nation of crooks and jugglers.
Arab children,
Spring rain,
Corn ears of the future,
You are the generation
That will overcome defeat.
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 08
Several officials of Sultan Mahmud asked Hasan Muimandi one day what the sultan had told him about a certain affair. He replied: ‘You must yourselves have heard it.’ They rejoined: ‘What he says to thee he does not think proper to communicate to the like of us.’ He answered: ‘Because he trusts that I shall not reveal it. Then why do you ask me to do so?’
A knowing man will not utter every word which occurs to him.
It is not proper to endanger one’s head for the king’s secret.
A Sultan's Daughter
I am the daughter of a Sultan and i need your love,
I am the daughter of a Sultan and i need your hand in marriage;
Come and see my father's wealth,
Come and taste my father's wealth,
For you are the only man in my mind.
A Sultan's daughter is what i am and i am in love with you,
So come and be my husband to be on this sweet love of mine.
Oh my handsome man, that is all that i am on this love;
'Asalaam-u-alaikum! ..... Wa-alaikum Salaam! ! '
Please come and let me take you to my father;
For you are the very man i want to marry.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Commanders Of The Faithful
The Pope he is a happy man,
His Palace is the Vatican,
And there he sits and drains his can:
The Pope he is a happy man.
I often say when I'm at home,
I'd like to be the Pope of Rome.
And then there's Sultan Saladin,
That Turkish Soldan full of sin;
He has a hundred wives at least,
By which his pleasure is increased:
I've often wished, I hope no sin,
That I were Sultan Saladin.
But no, the Pope no wife may choose,
And so I would not wear his shoes;
No wine may drink the proud Paynim,
And so I'd rather not be him:
My wife, my wine, I love, I hope,
And would be neither Turk nor Pope.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 01
Hasan Maimundi was asked that, as the Sultan Mahmud possesses so many beautiful slaves, each of whom is a marvel in the world, how it happens that he manifests towards none of them so much inclination and love as to Iyaz, although he is not more handsome than the others. He replied: ‘Whatever descends into the heart appears good to the eye.’
He whose murid’ the sultan is
If he does everything bad, it will be good.
But he whom the padshah throws away
Will not be cared for by anyone in the household.
If anyone looks with an unfavourable eye
Even the figure of Joseph will indicate ugliness
And if he looks with the eye of desire on a demon,
He will appear an angel, a cherub in his sight.
Society's Relief
my country is rooted to the
sultanate tradition,
one sultan and his children
and four wives ruling a
territory
those that block the way
are beheaded,
though not really that literally
in the modern sense of
my world, they finally name it
a dynasty
of political warlords and
rag and drag leaders,
one must know the word kowtow
the figurative language of toeing the line
and fidelity or else
fatality, somehow, in my own little way,
i think, there is a need for relief from
this secretly hated tradition of
putting power to the few
families over a long, long time
like an old classical novel
of War and Peace, and somehow
i like to go on the
Color Purple midway between
Fiddler on the Roof and
Gone with the Wind,
my mind bloats and i become a daydreamer
of sort, detached from reality of
abc, to xyz, i do not quit,
i continue dreaming for change and relief
i travel to America and
Canada, meet some friends, and get to
know how they are doing, flying kites
and rolling snow balls, and chasing rainbows
so to speak,
after all is said and done, i come to the conclusion
that i go back
in my country and meet the Sultan again,
missing me, his long gone
son.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oman Country Liberal
Oman Country Liberal
Ancestral history of glory
Historian in the heart of time
Across the seas and oceans
Witness the East and West
Empire of the brave
Heeded the call
Honest and generous people
Generosity morals
And dream ornaments
The people of manners
Sultan Qaboos
Grandson of the Sultans
His march
Gold and biography
And achievements of the invisible visible
Oman rest of your glory
Not in history
But
In the hearts of your fans
Crown on the head
Not interested in destabilizing the weak people
And deny as long as the Sultan
Reminded him of the glory of time
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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The Sultan
I am the Sultan on your love,
So my sweet lady do open the door of your love for me;
I am the Sultan living next to your heart and,
I am in love with you my sweet lady.
I want to marry you so,
Come and open your sweet door of love to me;
For i have been studying you for a very long time among the ladies.
Come and let me marry you my beautiful woman,
For i still hope to see the day that you will be mine;
And thereafter, have you as a married wife to my Palace.
One day i will come to you with my officials,
One day i will knock at your door;
For you are the right woman needed t my Palace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Does The Lotus Shrink Away For Everyone?
(after A.G. Visser)
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
an expensive car stops on the sidewalk,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
with many knights
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan
and he’s just left when the neighbour’s wife rushes past
without loosing a moment.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
where in the darkness of night he leaves
to be involved with his commitments
with many knights,
while the winter wind cuts through me,
the gaze of the neighbour’s wife chills the leaving car,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where in the palace Fatima made herself lovely
and the sultan had just left
to be involved with his commitments,
the neighbour’s wife hurries and do not want to avoid her lover
and I read insubordination, pleasure and rebellion on her face,
early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away.
When a horseman appears as the emir of the Badewyn
Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the sultan had just left
and the neighbour is really dedicated
exemplary, friendly and he wears glasses,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where they meet each other and make love for hours
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
and Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the neighbour is with other knights when his wife is wooed
while she is begging for other attention.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away,
there’s an old legend that returns to me:
Does the lotus shrink away for everyone, does it wither
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan?
[Reference: “Divan” by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 20
A king with some of his courtiers had during a hunting party and in the winter season strayed far from inhabited places but when the night set in he perceived the house of a dehqan and said: ‘We shall spend the night there to avoid the injury of the cold.’ One of the veziers, however, objected alleging that it was unworthy of the high dignity of a padshah to take refuge in the house of a dehqan and that it would be best to pitch tents and to light fires on the spot. The dehqan who had become aware of what was taking place prepared some food he had ready in his house, offered it, kissed the ground of service and said: ‘The high dignity of the sultan would not have been so much lowered, but the courtiers did not wish the dignity of the dehqan to become high.’ The king who was pleased with these words moved for the night into the man’s house and bestowed a dress of honour upon him the next morning. When he accompanied the king a few paces at the departure he was heard to say:
‘Nothing was lost of the sultan’s power and pomp
By accepting the hospitality of a dehqan,
But the corner of the dehqan’s cap reached the sun
When a sultan such as thou overshadowed his head.’
Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 29
A vezier paid a visit to Zulnun Misri and asked for his favour, saying: "I am day and night engaged in the service of the sultan and hoping to be rewarded but nevertheless dread to be punished by him." Zulnun wept and said: "Had I feared God, the great and glorious, as thou fearest the sultan, I would be one of the number of the righteous."
If there were no hope of rest and trouble
The foot of the dervish would be upon the sphere
And if the vezier feared God
Like the king he would be king.
Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 36
There were two brothers: one of them in the service of the sultan and the other gaining his livelihood by the effort of his arm. The wealthy man once asked his destitute brother why he did not serve the sultan in order to be delivered from the hardship of labouring. He replied: "Why labourest thou not to be delivered from the baseness of service because philosophers have said that it is better to eat barley bread and to sit than to gird oneself with a golden belt and to stand in service?"
To leaven mortar of quicklime with the hand
Is better than to hold them on the breast before the amir.
My precious life was spent in considering
What I am to eat in summer and wear in winter.
O ignoble belly, be satisfied with one bread
Rather than to bend the back in service.
Ode to the Sublime Porte
Great Sultan, how wise are thy state compositions!
And oh, above all, I admire that Decree,
In which thou command'st, that all she politicians
Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea.
'Tis my fortune to know a lean Benthamite spinster --
A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy puts;
Who talks, with a lisp, of the "last new Westminster,"
And hopes you're delighted with "Mill upon Gluts";
Who tells you how clever one Mr. Fun-blank is,
How charming his Articles 'gainst the Nobility; --
And assures you that even a gentleman's rank is,
In Jeremy's school, of no sort of utility.
To see her, ye Gods, a new number perusing --
Art. 1 - "On the Needle's variations", by Pl--e;
Art. 2 - By her fav'rite Fun-blank - so amusing!
"Dear man! he makes poetry quite a Law case."
Art. 3 -"Upon Fallacies", Jeremy's own --
(Chief Fallacy being, his hope to find readers); -
Art. 4 - "Upon Honesty", author unkown; --
Art. 5 - (by the young Mr. M--) "Hints to Breeders".
Oh, Sultan, oh, Sultan, though oft for the bag
And the bowstring, like thee, I am tempted to call --
Though drowning's too good for each blue-stocking hag,
I would bag this she Benthamite first of them all!
And, lest she should ever again lift her head
From the watery bottom, her clack to renew --
As a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead,
I would hang round her neck her own darling Review.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Every fault that a Sultan pleases can be a quality.
Malaysiana - Quirky Hang Tuah Poem
Hang Tuah was
a fake loyalist
to friend, to king
if he was so
insistent on protocol
he should have turned
himself in
to the Sultan
instead of go hiding
Confucius was most
articulate about
absolute royalty
and loyalty
it means if the king
wants you dead
you would gladly do so
at his knees
hang tuah was a quack
if he was so insistent
of killing best friend jebat
who stood up for him
he should have taken
a hard look at his
own loyalty
running away in hiding
that too was punishable
by death by Malacca laws
but it was jebat who
had to take all
kris, blood, dejections
and the bowel churning
falsity of a great friend
and all for his
pure love and blind
loyalty - to a friend
who turned out
to be an opportunist
the greatest losers
first jebat, second
the sultan
the way he was
tuah probably did
flirt with the palace girl
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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When they came to shoe the horse of the sultan, along comes the beetle and sticks out her foot.
If the Sultan demands five eggs, let his soldiers roast a thousand chickens.
After Omar
Awake for morning in the bowl of night
has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight.
And lo the hunter of the east has caught
The sultan’s turret in a noose of light.
Omar Khayyam
Awake for morning in the bowl of night
is pouring never ending streams of light
Which emanating from the east has fought
and put the darkness of the night to flight.
The sun displays to every man his might
Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight
His gifts are given free cannot be bought
or sold by any man. None has the right.
And Lo the hunter from the east has caught
so easily the prey that he has long sought.
The Imam prays but prayers will gain him nought
Because the Sun is stronger than he thought.
The Sultan's turret in a noose of light
Presents newly awakened eyes a sight
each day that comes unbidden and unsought.
Accepted by all men as their birthright.
12-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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