At the Grave of Cilmi Boodhari

(A Poem by Hadraawi)

O my king among poets!
You who were driven onward to destruction
By your sorrows, by your helpless anger
And by the harshness meted out to you –
O Cilmi, you who died from passion’s griefs,
You are the very paragon of love!
The perfection of the poet’s art is in your lamentations –
Accept my greetings, praise and homage

I know full well you are requited now
For all the pains you suffered in this world,
But there are some questions I would ask you
Do you lodge in paradise? Do you lie in fresh, cool shade?
Do you pick ripe fruit, and do the houris sing for you?
Do they grant you whatever you want of them?
Have you and Hodan beheld each other in the court of God?
Have you spoken to her and she to you?

But why should I be concerned with any of womankind?
How can I ever be at peace with them
Or exert myself unstintingly on their behalf?
For it was they, was it not, who tempted you away
Beguiling you with a cloud that brought no rain
And a deceitful vision on the far horizon?
They who lured you to a dry and empty pool
To a place that was swept by hot an noxious winds?
When you were thirsty it was they, was it not,
Who filled you with vain longings

From their hands came suffering
And a robe of mourning.
They planted anguish in your flesh,
They stole away your sleep,
They enveloped you in darkness,
They cast you into a pit and covered you close,
They harried you to the top of a cliff
Only to hurl you headlong down.

Wounding you, they severed an artery,
And they struck you down on sandy ground
Throwing you into the dust.
You were abandoned in the wilderness
And there the hyenas and ravening beasts of prey
Gnawed at the flesh that clung to your bones
While scavenger crows and cultures
Pecked at the scraps that were left.

But my reflections on women must be tempered
Since it is of women, after all, that our mothers are born,
And the maternal breast will come to their aid,
Defending them against me, against my contentions
And against my manly pride.
If they had no such strong protection
Who would ever trouble about them?
Who would ever hunger after them?
Who would offer riches in exchange for them?
Who would bring them to their homesteads?
Who would ever bother to talk to them?

* * * * *

But I was telling how I was inspired to visit Cilmi’s grave,
To offer my homage, my salutations and my song.
It was my purpose to find out for sure his dwelling-place
And to know what wealth had been bestowed on him
When he arrived at last in the presence of God.

Then I asked him concerning Hodon, did I not?
To be sure, he has left for his eternal home,
But some links with this world he still must keep
That stretch, like telegraph wires, from here to there –
And I got my answer – was that not so?

For yesterday, as dusk began, I spied a hoopoe –
He who bears messages from the Other World –
And from afar, with nods and becks,
He signalled me to join him.
I was walking in the company of men,
So falling back, I sought him in his hidden haunt
And there I gathered all his news,
Prompting him now and again
With “Go on, then” and “Yes?”

The message that the hero sent me,
Entrusting it to the hoopoe’s care, was this:
“Listen, you who sought me out
So zealously and questioned me,
I know it was your sympathy with my fate
That brought you to my grave in this wild land of scrub.
You offered me homage and called me from my resting-place,
You who yourself excel in the poetic art –
Here, then are my tidings!

“It is only on earth that troubles dwell,
Only there that folk suffer from thirst,
Only there that men of true mettle
Are treated disdainfully when they have no wealth.
It is there that fortune favours women,
It is there that women hold men in poor esteem!

“But now I live in Paradise,
Where full contentment is assured
To those who showed forbearance when on earth –
No disappointments await them in their graves!
In the past, my life held hardship and misfortune
But recompense is granted in this Other World
I live here in a cool and shady homestead,
Sheltered by a cloud above my head,
Screened by thunder and lightning from the sun.

“I fill my water-pail from a pool that is ever full,
I linger beside clusters of ripe fruit
That gladden my eyes as I pick and eat
Like a child, whose mother is feeding him
Now from her right breast, now from her left –
Or like a duckling camel nourished by his dam.
No thought I give to Hodon or to love of her
For others have come to take her place.
Now there are houris to engage in amiable talk,
Houris who are commanded to sing for me
And who encompass me with the inner borders of their robes.

“But a herd of sturdy camels is thronging towards me now!
The water-pail is filled and ready – my task awaits me –
Farewell, my brother, farewell to you!”