NUWAS, Abu


The Last Poem

O Allah, if my sins become abundant

Then indeed I know Your Forgiveness is greater than my sins

And I supplicated in humility

And if You turn my hands away

Then who will be merciful to me?

If the only people that can have hope in You are the good-doers

Then who would the criminal, the sinner, and the evil turn to?

The only way I have to come to You is my hope in You

And Your beautiful forgiveness is that I am a Muslim.


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Come, my lord, let us rebel against the Despot of Heaven;

My proud soul will be content with nothing but the forbidden

I do not care when my cup of death will come;

I have already had my fill of the joys of the [wine] cup.


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Cheetah

I move through black cloud night—

Dark, at war with Dawn,

Quivers with a fine blade's sheen—

With a vigorous, widejaw cheetah

Thickneck, spine-welded-scapulae

Leanbelly in taut-twist well-rope body

Cheek-folds plump in a scowl,

Sheeny; black teardrops on masseters

Bactrian lungs in saffron ribcage

Heavy paws, bull neck, sudden dart

A lion but for the spotty coat

Alert for shapes that shift.

A long search sights two herds

On ground flat as a man's brow

He's off, a slow stalk,

A trap about to explode

Puff adder slither

Through ground high and low

Face to face with his prey now—

Havoc! He scatters them across the desert

Full stretch, full pelt

Greedy fury.

Why hunt with any creature but a cheetah?


Don’t cry for Layla

Don't cry for Layla, don't rave about Hind!

But drink among roses a rose-red wine,

A drought that descends in the drinker's throat,

bestowing its redness on eyes and cheeks.

The wine is a ruby, the glass is a pearl,

served by the hand of a slim-fingered girl,

Who serves you the wine from her hand, and wine

from her mouth — doubly drunk, for sure, will you be!


Love in Bloom

I die of love for him, perfect in every way,

Lost in the strains of wafting music.

My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body

And I do not wonder at his beauty.

His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,

And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek

I die of love for you, but keep this secret:

The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.

How much time did your creation take, O angel?

So what! All I want is to sing your praises.

In The Bath-House

In the bath-house, the mysteries hidden by trousers

Are revealed to you.

All becomes radiantly manifest.

Feast your eyes without restraint!

You see handsome buttocks, shapely trim torsos,

You hear the guys whispering pious formulas

to one another

('God is Great! ' 'Praise be to God! ')

Ah, what a palace of pleasure is the bath-house!

Even when the towel-bearers come in

And spoil the fun a bit.