Khansa

Khansa Poems

Sleepless I kept the night vigil,
Eyes khol-blackened ruts.
...

No day was sad as the day Sakhr
left me. Sweet and forever bitter.
...

I see time wasting my tribe, my father's sons,
I became tears that my weeping does not dry,
...

My long night refused to give me
the slightest sleep after the terrible news.
...

O my eyes, shed tears generously,
Will you not weep for Sakhr, the generous?
...

Time has gnawed at me, bit me and has cut me.
Time has harmed, wounded and injured me,
...

The leader of horses against others;
it was as though they were she-ghuls
...

My sons I carried you with pain and raised you with care
You have fallen today for the cause of Islam
...

What have we done to you death
that you treat us so, with always another catch
one day a warrior
...

10.

Verily, Sakhr if you have made my eyes shed tears
You long brought me mirth
...

11.

Tears, ere thy death, for many a one I shed,
But thine are all my tears since thou art dead.
...

Khansa Biography

Khansā (translated from Arabic as either 'gazelle' or 'short-nosed') was a 7th century Arabic poet. She was born and raised in the Najd region (the central region of modern-day Saudi Arabia). She was a contemporary of Muhammad, and eventually converted to Islam. In her time, the role of a female poet was to write elegies for the dead and perform them for the tribe in public oral competitions. Al-Khansa’ won respect and fame in these competitions with her elegies for her brothers, Ṣakhr and Muʿāwiyah, who had died in battle. She is the best known female poet in Arabic literature.)

The Best Poem Of Khansa

Sleepless I Kept The Night Vigil

Sleepless I kept the night vigil,
Eyes khol-blackened ruts.
I watched the stars, though no watchman,
Me, wrapped in wragged robes.
For I had heard news- and no news for joy-
Word of you:
'Here is Sakhr,
hurled to the ground, skirted by stones.'
Go then, to God's care,
You whose heart quickened at wrong,
You like the spear-tip
Whose bright shape lit the night,
You, bitterly resolved, free-born,
and the son of the free- Go!
I will weep for you
So long as the ring-dove wails
And stars brighten
The road for the traveller.
And I will not make peace with a people you were at war with,
not till the good host's black pot whitens.

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