Islam House

Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Translated into English in 1859 by Edward FitzGerald

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.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted -- "Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one Knows;
But still the Vine her ancient ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!" -- the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one.

Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper -- heed them not.

With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot --
And Peace is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win --
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes -- or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two -- is gone.

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter -- the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean --
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears --
To-morrow? -- Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch -- for whom?

Ah, make the most of what we may yet spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie;
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and -- sans End!

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There!"

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about; but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd --
"I came like Water and like Wind I go."

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.

There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.

Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live,
Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take -- and give!

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!

A Moment's Halt -- a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste --
And Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd
The Nothing it set out from -- Oh, make haste!

Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!

The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him
So long in this Clay suburb to abide?

But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And after many days my Soul return'd
And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."

Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.

And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
The Eternal Saki from the Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbls like us, and will pour.

When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh but the long long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.

'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;
And he that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all -- He knows -- HE knows!

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not -- each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to it for help -- for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

I tell You this -- When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

The Vine has struck a fiber: which about
If clings my Being -- let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

And this I know: whether the one True Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath -- consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd --
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry trade!

Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give -- and take!

Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried --
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."

Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"

None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The Little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore -- but was I sober when I swore?
And then, and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse -- If dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me -- in vain!

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!

Omar Khayyam

Catrene si citate de Omar Khayyam

Fii vesel căci, tristetea o să dureze pururi!
Mereu aceleasi stele s-or învârti-n azururi.
Din cărămizi făcute din trupul tău, n-ai teamă,
Se vor zidi palate pentru neghiobi de seamă.

Nu plânge după ierii ce rupţi ţi-au fost din viaţă
Şi nu gândi la ziua ce nu ştii de-o să vie.
Şi ieri şi mâini şi astãzi iluzii sunt şi ceaţă.
Atât ai: clipa. Fă-o să umple-o veşnicie.

O mână-ascunsă scrie şi trece mai departe.
Nici rugi, nici argumente, nici spaima ta de moarte
Nu vor îndupleca-o să şteargă vreun cuvânt.
Nici lacrimile tale nu pot să şteargă-un rând.

Tot ce există fost-a marcat din prima zi.
Absenţi pe chipul lumii sunt binele şi răul.
Dintr-u-nceputuri Cerul a-nscris tot ce va fi.
Să scrie totul altfel, în veci nu-ndupleci Zeul.

Ivirea mea n-aduse nici un adaos lumii,
Iar moartea n-o să-i schimbe rotundul şi splendoarea.
Şi nimeni nu-i să-mi spună ascunsul tâlc al spumii:
Ce sens avu venirea? Şi-acum ce sens plecarea?

..................................................- .

Olarul stă în faţa roţii. Cântă.
El modelează şolduri de ulcioare.
El cranii mândre de sultani frământă
Şi ofilite mâini de cerşetoare.

Fiindcă nu ştii ce te-aşteaptă mâine, luptă să fii fericit astăzi. Ia o cană cu vin şi, sub lumina lunii, bea, zicându-ţi că luna te va căuta poate zadarnic, mâine.

Acest vas fu odată un biet îndrăgostit
Gemând de nepăsarea unei femei frumoase.
Iar toarta era braţul ce mângâia mâhnit
Suavul gât cu-atingeri uşoare, de mătase.

Atâta duioşie la început. De ce?
Atâtea dulci alinturi şi-atâtea farmece
În ochi, în glas, în gesturi - apoi. De ce? Şi-acum,
De ce sunt toate ură şi lacrimă şi fum?

Noi nu vom şti vreodată ce ne aşteaptă mâine.
Tu bucură-te astăzi! Atâta îţi rămâne.
Ia cupa şi te-aşează sub luna de cleştar,
Căci mâine poate luna te va căta-n zadar.

Te chinuieşte gândul că faci mereu păcate.
Din orice bucurie o vină ţi-ai făcut.
E fără rost tristeţea, Khayyam, căci după moarte
Veni-va sau iertarea sau neantul absolut.

Mă dojeniţi că veşnic sunt beat. Ei bine, sunt!
Necredincios mă faceţi. Şi ce dacă-i aşa?
Puteţi orice să spuneţi pe socoteala mea.
Îmi aparţin. Pricepeţi? Şi sunt ceea ce sunt!

Sunt clipe când îmi pare că tot ce-a trebuit
Să aflu despre lume, de mult am desluşit.
Dar stelele mă mustră tăcut din patru zări:
"N-ai dezlegat nici una din marile întrebări".

Nu mi-am făcut vreodată din rugi şirag de perle
Ca să-mi ascund noianul păcatelor cu ele.
Nu ştiu dacă există o Milă sau Dreptate
Dar totuşi, nu mi-e teamă: curat am fost în toate.

Cât de sărac e-acela ce nu poate să spună:
"Sunt beat mereu de vinul cel tare al iubirii".
Cum poate el să simtă în zori uimirea firii
Şi noaptea vraja sfântă a clarului de lună?

Fii vesel, căci tristeţea o să dureze pururi.
Mereu aceleaşi stele s-or învârti-n azururi.
Din cărămizi făcute din trupul tău, n-ai teamă,
Se vor zidi palate pentru neghiobi de seamă.

De-i prietenul necredincios, dispreţuieşte-l ca pe un duşman. Respectă vrăjmaşul statornic; Priveşte otrava lecuitoare ca pe un antidot, iar dulceţurile rele consideră-le oţet omorâtor.

Un punct pierdut e lumea, în haosul imens
Toată ştiinţa noastră: cuvinte fără sens
Om, pasăre şi floare sunt umbre în abis
Zadarnic este gândul, iar existenţa - vis.

Celui care este zdravăn şi-are un coltuc de pâine,
Şi-are unde să-şi aştearnă căpătâiul până mâine,
Nu-i stăpânul nimănuia şi nici rob la nimeni nu e -
Spune-i lui că pe deasupra lumii-n fericire suie.

Un şeic văzu o desfrânată şi-i spuse: "Pari sclava vinului şi a dezmăţului" - iar ea-i dădu răspuns: "Ce par a fi, eu sunt, - dar tu, învăţătorule, eşti ceea ce pari a fi?"

grabite ca si apa, si repezi ca un gand
ce-alearga prin pustiuri..fug zilele-mi putine
si totusi doua zile indiferente-mi sunt-
ziua de ieri si ziua care-o sa vina maine.

Eşti nefericit? Nu te gândi la durerea ta şi nu vei suferi.

Tu vezi doar aparenţe. Un val ascunde firea.
Tu ştii de mult aceasta. Dar inima firavă,
Tot vrea să mai iubească. Căci ni s-a dat iubirea
Aşa cum unor plante le-a dat Alah otravă.

Puţină apă şi puţină pâine
Şi ochii tăi în umbra parfumată.
N-a fost sultan mai fericit vreodată
Şi nici un cerşetor mai trist ca mine.

Dă-mi cupa şi ulciorul! Să bem fermecătoare
Făptura plămădită din rouă şi eter!
Câte minuni ca tine zeflemitorul cer
De mii de ori schimbat-a în cupe şi ulcioare?

Priveşte! Trandafirul se leagănă în vânt.
Ce pătimaş îi cântă de sus privighetoarea!
Bea! Ca să uiţi că vântul va scutura azi floarea
Şi va lua cu dânsul fermecătorul cânt...

Nu planta copacul tristeţii în inima ta. Reciteşte în fiecare dimineaţă cartea bucuriei.

Dincolo de pamânt şi infinit
Cătam să aflu cerul unde vine.
Şi-un glas solemn atunci s-a auzit:
"Şi cerul şi infernul sunt în tine."

Priveşte cedrul mândru: atâtea braţe are!
Dar nu ca să cerşească, ci ca s-adune soare.
Şi limbi nenumărate au nuferii şi crinii.
Vorbesc însă limbajul tăcerii şi-al luminii.

Căzut-am pe gânduri în atelierul unui olar. Îl vedeam apăsând pe pedală. Şi pregătind cu mişcări iuţi pentru toarta şi gâtul unui vas: picioare de cerşetori, cranii de împăraţi.

Ivirea mea n-aduse nici un adaos lumii,
Iar moartea n-o să-i schimbe rotundul şi splendoarea.
Şi nimeni nu-i să-mi spună ascunsul tâlc al spumii:
Ce sens avu venirea? Şi-acum, ce sens plecarea?

Iubeşte-mă acum, căci anii de năzuinţi ne-or pune frâuri,
Iar zilele vieţii noastre se duc ca undele pe râuri.
Iar trupul tău ce-mi este astăzi cel mai dorit dintre limanuri,
Va fi un biet ulcior din care vor bea drumeţii pe la hanuri.

Dacă venirea ar fi fost după mine - n-aş fi venit.
Dacă plecarea ar fi fost după mine - n-aş fi plecat.
Ce bine-ar fi fost ca în lumea aceasta
Să nu fi venit, să nu fi plecat, să nu fi trăit.

Niciodată despre dusul ieri să nu-ţi aduci aminte,
Iar de ziua care vine nu te plânge dinainte.
Nu te bizui pe mâine, nici pe ieri, şi-ntoarce-ţi faţa
Către astăzi, şi petrece, să nu-ţi pierzi zădarnic viaţa!

Înaintea venirii noastre nimic nu-i lipsea lumii; după plecarea noastră, nu-i va lipsi nimic.

Mai daţi-mi vin să mi se-nvârtă capul,
să simt în trup focul arzând aşa...
Sătul de minciuni, să curgă vinul!
Repede, sunt bătrân deja!

Spun unii că există un Creator şi zic
Că pentru a distruge, fiinţe a creat.
Fiindcă sunt urâte? Dar cine-i vinovat?
Sau pentru că-s frumoase? Nu mai pricep nimic.

Credinţă şi-ndoială, eroare şi-adevăr,
Ca boaba unei spume, uşoare sunt şi goale.
Opacă sau bogată în irizări de cer,
Această boabă-i chipul şi tâlcul vieţii tale.

Natura cu-ale sale stihii şi elemente,
Sofismul şi-adevărul - îmi sunt indiferente.
Da-mi vin şi-atinge harfa cu modulaţii moi
Asemeni cu-ale brizei ce trece ca şi noi.

Un om prin lume trece. El nu e musulman.
Nici infidel nu este. Nu crede-n legi şi zei.
Nu neagă, nu afirmă. Dar vezi în ochii săi
Ca nimenea nu este mai trist şi mai uman.

Avui vestiţi maeştri. Făcusem mari progrese.
Când mi-amintesc savantul ce-am fost, azi îl compar
Cu apa ce ia forma impusă de pahar
Şi fumu-n care vântul năluci ciudate ţese.

Mai toarnă-mi vinul roşu ca un obraz de fată.
Curatul sânge scoate-l din gâturi de ulcioare.
Căci, în afara cupei, Khayyam azi nu mai are
Măcar un singur prieten cu inimă curată.

În această seară vinul mă-nvaţă-un sens mai pur:
Cu sânge cast, de roze, paharele ni-s pline,
Iar cupa-i modelată din închegat azur.
Şi noaptea-i pleoapa unei lăuntrice lumine...

Renume de-ai să capeţi, hulit vei fii de vulg.
Dar dacă te vei ţine departe de mulţime,
Uneltitor te-or crede. Cum, Doamne, să mă smulg,
Să nu mă ştie nimeni şi să nu ştiu de nime?

Intr-adevar, idolii pe care i-am iubit atata timp, mi-au scazut valoarea-n fata oamenilor, mi-au inecat cinstea intr-o cupa prea putin adanca si mi-au vandut reputatia pe-un cantec. Intr-adevar, intr-adevar, cainta adesea inainte am jurat- dar fost-am eu serios cand am jurat? Si iar si iar sosit-a primavara cu trandafir in mana- penitenta mea zdrenturoasa doar o carpa roasa.

“Ulciorul” de Omar Khayyam

Rămâi să mai ciocnim o cupă

La hanul vechi de pe coclauri,

Căci pentru vin și pentru tine

Mai am în sân trei pumni de aur.

Rămâi să-nmormântăm tristețea

Și setea fără de-alinare

Cu vinul negru de la hanul

Din valea umbrelor fugare.

Știi tu, frumoaso, că ulciorul

Din care bei înfrigurată

E făurit din taina sfântă,

Din taina unui trup de fată?

L-a făurit cândva olarul

Cel inspirat de duhul rău,

Din taina unui trup de fată

Frumos și cald ca trupul tău.

Înmiresmează-te, frumoaso,

Ca pe-un altar de mirodenii,

Cât zarea-i plină de albastru

Și lumea plină-i de vedenii

Și-atât cât drumurile vieții

Mai au pe margini bucurii,

Căci mâine în zadar vei bate

La porți de suflete pustii.

Iubește-mă acum căci anii

Nebănuiți vor pune frâu,

Iar clipele iubirii noastre

Se scurg ca undele pe râu.

Ca mâine-om puterezi-n morminte,

Uitați, nepomeniți de nimeni,

Ca mâine vor veni olarii

Să fure lut din țintirime.

Iar trupul tău, care mi-e astăzi

Cel mai iubit dintre limanuri,

Va fi un biet ulcior din care

Vor bea drumeții pe la hanuri.


Omar Khayyam - Catrene I - XXX


Un om prin lume trece. El nu e musulman.
Nici infidel nu este. Nu crede-n legi si zei.
Nu neaga, nu afirma. Dar vezi in ochii sai
Ca nimenea nu este mai trist si mai uman.


Nu mi-am facut vreodata din rugi sirag de perle
Ca sa-mi ascund noianul pacatelor cu ele.
Nu stiu daca exista o Mila sau Dreptate
Dar totusi, nu mi-e teama: curat am fost în toate.


Spun unii ca exista un Creator si zic
Ca pentru a distruge, fiinte a creat.
Fiindca sunt urâte? Dar cine-i vinovat?
Sau pentru ca-s frumoase? Nu mai pricep nimic.


Natura cu-ale sale stihii si elemente,
Sofismul si-adevarul - îmi sunt indiferente.
Da-mi vin si-atinge harfa cu modulatii moi
Asemeni cu-ale brizei ce trece ca si noi.


Mai toarna-mi vinul rosu ca un obraz de fata.
Curatul sânge scoate-l din gâturi de ulcioare.
Caci, în afara cupei, Khayyam azi nu mai are
Macar un singur prieten cu inima curata.


Sunt clipe când îmi pare ca tot ce-a trebuit
Sa aflu despre lume, de mult am deslusit.
Dar stelele ma mustra tacut din patru zari:
"N-ai dezlegat nici una din marile întrebari".


În aceasta seara vinul ma-nvata-un sens mai pur:
Cu sânge cast, de roze, paharele ni-s pline,
Iar cupa-i modelata din închegat azur.
Si noaptea-i pleoapa unei launtrice lumine...


Renume de-ai sa capeti, hulit vei fii de vulg.
Dar daca te vei tine departe de multime,
Uneltitor te-or crede. Cum, Doamne, sa ma smulg,
Sa nu ma stie nimeni si sa nu stiu de nime?


Fii vesel, caci tristetea o sa dureze pururi.
Mereu aceleasi stele s-or învârti-n azururi.
Din caramizi facute din trupul tau, n-ai teama,
Se vor zidi palate pentru neghiobi de seama.


Avui vestiti maestri. Facusem mari progrese.
Când mi-amintesc savantul ce-am fost, azi îl compar
Cu apa ce ia forma impusa de pahar
Si fumu-n care vântul naluci ciudate tese.


Credinta si-ndoiala, eroare si-adevar,
Ca boaba unei spume, usoare sunt si goale.
Opaca sau bogata în irizari de cer,
Aceasta boaba-i chipul si tâlcul vietii tale.


Atâta duiosie la început. De ce?
Atâtea dulci alinturi si-atâtea farmece
În ochi, în glas, în gesturi - apoi. De ce? Si-acum,
De ce sunt toate ura si lacrima si fum?


Putina apa si putina pîine
Si ochii tai în umbra parfumata.
N-a fost sultan mai fericit vreodata
Si nici un cersetor mai trist ca mine.


Ivirea mea n-aduse nici un adaos lumii,
Iar moartea n-o sa-i schimbe rotundul si splendoarea.
Si nimeni nu-i sa-mi spuna ascunsul tâlc al spumii:
Ce sens avu venirea? Si-acum, ce sens plecarea?


Priveste cedrul mândru: atâtea brate are!
Dar nu ca sa cerseasca, ci ca s-adune soare.
Si limbi nenumarate au nuferii si crinii.
Vorbesc însa limbajul tacerii si-al luminii.


Da-mi cupa si ulciorul! Sa bem fermecatoare
Faptura plamadita din roua si eter!
Câte minuni ca tine zeflemitorul cer
De mii de ori schimbat-a în cupe si ulcioare?


Sarmane om, nimica tu n-ai sa stii vreodata.
Nimic din ce-nconjoara aceasta ora trista.
Încearca sa-ti faci Raiul, promis de zei odata,
Aici, caci altul poate dincolo nu exista.


Sa-ti faci putini prieteni. Din tine nu iesi
Caci prea des falsitatea credinta ne-o înfrânge.
Când ti se-ntinde o mâna, ‘nainte de-a o strânge,
Gândeste-te ca poate te va lovi-ntr-o zi.


Toti idolii pe care atât i-am adorat
Mi-au sângerat credinta cu rani ce nu se vindec.
Mi-au înecat tristetea în vinul parfumat
Si mi-au vândut la urma renumele pe-un cântec.


Ma dojeniti ca vesnic sunt beat. Ei bine, sunt!
Necredincios ma faceti. Si ce daca-i asa?
Puteti orice sa spuneti pe socoteala mea.
Îmi apartin. Pricepeti? Si sunt ceea ce sunt!


Spuneti-mi, ce-i mai bine? Sa mergi într-o taverna,
Sau sa te tângui zilnic cu sufletul pustiu,
Îngenunchind în templu? Dar eu nu vreau sa stiu
De-Alah si alta viata, caci stingerea-i eterna.


Nu judeca pe nimeni, ci cata sa-ntelegi.
Eu beau, dar aminteste-ti ca ai si tu pacate.
De vrei s-ajungi la pace si la seninatate,
Apleaca-te asupra durerii lumii-ntregi.


E-april. Pluteste-n aer o vraja de nespus.
Se nasc din nou sperante si-ndemnuri de a fi.
Fiece floare alba e mâna lui Moisí
Si-n fiecare briza respira, blând Isus.

Acest vas fu odata un biet îndragostit
Gemând de nepasarea unei femei frumoase.
Iar toarta era bratul ce mângâia mâhnit
Suavul gât cu-atingeri usoare, de matase.


Noi nu vom sti vreodata ce ne asteapta mâine.
Tu bucura-te astazi! Atâta îti ramâne.
Ia cupa si te-aseaza sub luna de clestar,
Caci mâine poate luna te va cata-n zadar.


Tu vezi doar aparente. Un val ascunde firea.
Tu stii de mult aceasta. Dar inima firava,
Tot vrea sa mai iubeasca. Caci ni s-a dat iubirea
Asa cum unor plante le-a dat Alah otrava.


Coranul, cartea sfânta, citimu-l câteodata.
Dar cine se desfata din el în orice ceas?
Pe cupa plina însa o maxima-i gravata
Pe care zi si noapte o soarbem cu nesat.


Ni-i vinul si prieten si aur si noroc.
De cer nu ne e frica, nu-i cerem îndurare.
Caci suflete si inimi si cupe si ulcioare
N-au teama de tarâna, de apa si de foc.


Cât de sarac e-acela ce nu poate sa spuna:
"Sunt beat mereu de vinul cel tare al iubirii".
Cum poate el sa simta în zori uimirea firii
Si noaptea vraja sfânta a a clarului de luna?


Nimic nu mai m-atrage. Da-mi vin! În asta seara
Cea mai frumoasa roza din lume-i gura ta.
Da-mi vin! Sa straluceasca aprins la fel ca ea!
Cainta mea sa fie ca bucla ta, usoara...
..................................................- ............

Nascut pe 18 Mai 1048 în orasul Nishapur (Persia) - actualul Iran -, sunt exact 957 de ani, si totusi Catrenele lui ramân nemuritoare, ocupând un loc aparte în literatura timpului, cu toate ca numarul lor se rezuma la câteva sute de stihuri, atât cât sa-i asigure vesnicia, dar o vesnicie singulara. Se cunosc putine amanunte din viata poetului, numele lui adevarat fiind Abul-Fath-Omar-Ibn-Ibrahim, Khayyam fiind pseudonim. A murit în jurul anului 1123 la Nisapur, unde exista si astazi mormântul.

A avut trei prieteni în viata lui; au facut legamânt sa se ajute între ei în cazul când unul dintre ei va ajunge pe înalte trepte sociale. Nizam al Mouk, unul dintre prieteni ajunsese la suprema dregatorie a statului, oferindu-i lui Khayyam protectia pentru ca aceasta sa poata studia matematica si astronomia, stiinte care-l pasionau din copilarie. Printr-o tragica întorsatura a sortii, cel de-al treilea prieten, Hassan Sabbah, a devenit si el celebrul "batrân al muntilor", conducator al unei secte sângeroase denumita a Hassissinilor, termen de la care se pare ca deriva cuvântul "asasin". Nizam l-a adus si pe Hassan la curtea regala, dar acesta încercând sa unelteasca o lovitura, pentru a-i lua locul, si cum uneltirea nu a izbutit, Hassan s-a refugiat în munti unde a organizat o temuta banda terorista, una din primele obiective ale acestora fiind asasinarea lui Nizam, deci a binefacatorului. Acest trist episod din viata lui Khayyam l-a influentat sa scrie urmatorul catren (pe care-l consider foarte actual si în zilele noastre) gândind la cel pe care-l considerase prieten si încheiase "pactul prieteniei" în caz de necesitate:

"Sa ai putini prieteni. Din tine nu iesi./Caci prea des falsitatea credinta ne-o înfrânge./Când ti se-ntinde o mâna, 'nainte de-a o strânge,/Gândeste-te ca poate te va lovi-ntr-o zi".

Omar Khayyam medic si astronom oficial al curtii regale iraniene, a fost directorul Observatorului din Merv, a prezidat grupul celor 8 astronomi care sub domnia sultanului Malik Shah au efectuat reformarea calendarului musulman în anul 1074. O. Khayyam a ramas renumit de-a lungul Evului Mediu pentru studiile sale în domeniul matematicii si fizicii. Lucrarea sa stiintifica cea mai importanta a fost un "Tratat de algebra", tradus în limbile europene înca din secolul XIX. O alta lucrare existenta este "Tratatul asupra unor dificultati ale definitiilor lui Euclide", precum si alte 7 scrieri de stiinta sau filozofie, dar care nu mai exista. În afara de Catrene se mai pastreaza o opera beletristica, foarte pretuita în Iran, referitoare la "Cartea Anului Nou", care constituie "un adevarat monument al prozei persane, consacrat traditiilor legate de sarbatorirea Anului nou la musulmani".

Dupa marturiile contemporanilor, Omar Kahyyam a fost unul din marii umanisti ai vremii pe plan universal, cunoscând nu numai tot ce se stia pâna în acel moment în domeniul fizicii, matematicii si astronomiei, dar posedând de asemenea vaste cunostinte de filozofie, mai ales filozofia Greciei antice. Aceasta eruditie vasta este subtil utilizata în catrene, exegetii încercând sa desluseasca aluziile filozofice sau stiintifice ascunse în opera sa poetica.

Paul VALÉRY afirma ca - "geniul trebuie sa epuizeze cel putin doua valente creatoare - Omar Khayyam a reunit în personalitatea sa prodigioasa trei destine: de savant, filozof si poet", concluzionând ca "Omar Khayyam constituie un caz unic în istoria culturii, un savant al epocii în care a trait si în acelasi timp unul din marii poeti ai omenirii, el ramânând o figura stranie si fascinanta ale carei meditatii asupra destinului omenesc te impresioneaza din primul moment atât de puternic, încât nu le mai poti uita niciodata". Catrenele nu sunt opera unui creator care sa fi fost exclusiv poet si care, în acest caz, ar fi putut privi viata pur contemplativ sau chiar cu o nuanta de gratuitate sau cochetarie metaforica, ci el le-a compus ca om de stiinta, un cercetator pasionat al Universului. Catrenele lui întrunesc cele doua ipostaze fundamentale ale oricarei gândiri umane lucide, anume: incerti! tudinea în fata marilor probleme ale existentei si glorificarea clipei prezente ca unica sursa a bucuriei omenesti.

Catrenul, ales ca mod de exprimare al lui Khayyam, se datoreste faptului ca era împotriva risipei metaforice a celorlalti poeti persani si a "dantelariilor" stilistice ale poeziei orientale în general. El a scris laconic si putin, Catrenul servindu-i de minune în a se exprima. Catrenul persan poarta numele de "robâi" sau "robayât" - cuvânt de origine araba care înseamna "patru" si are o forma deosebita, în sensul ca versurile 1, 2 si 4 rimeaza între ele, iar versul 3 ramâne alb. În Catrene si-a permis sa concentreze în versuri reflectiile cele mai adânci, melancolia cea mai dureroasa si o patimasa iubire de viata.

În privinta numarului catrenelor lasate de Khayyam, problema este foarte controversata, unele manuscrise cuprinzând pâna la 1200, altele între 50-60. Nu credea nici în zei, nici în mistica si nici în pretentiile nelimitate ale stiintei. El, care poseda o eruditie universala, credea ca taina Universului ramâne de nepatruns, ca nu putem afirma, nici nega ceva în mod absolut, punându-si întrebarea: "Cum am putea avea un punct de referinta, o certitudine absoluta în raport cu care sa apreciem sensul ultim, valoarea existentei si drumul care trebuie urmat?". Tot el afirma ca: "Viata este teza, Moartea - antiteza, iar prefacerile de dupa moarte ale substantei noastre vor completa evolutia dialectica a fiintei umane în fragile sinteze: flori, parfumuri, oale modelate de olari s.a.m.d." Filozofând asupra acestor afirmatii, a scris: "Sa calci usor, caci poate bucata de pamânt pe care o sfarmi sub piciorul tau, altadata erau doi ochi albastri sau buzele aprinse ale unei tinere fete. Olarul framânta pe roata sa cranii de sultani, mâini de cersetoare, inimi de îndragostiti".

Omar Khayyam ajungând la a doua constanta majora a filozofiei sale, anume glorificarea clipei de fata, "singurul bun real pe care-l posedam", a rezumat reflectia în câteva cuvinte: "Viata noastra fiind condensata în aceasta clipa/Traieste clipa data, /Caci clipa-i viata ta".

Omar Khayyam – Singuratatea omului

Să-ţi faci puţini prieteni. Din tine nu ieşi.
Căci prea des falsitatea credinţa ne-o înfrânge.
Când ţi se-ntinde-o mână, ‘nainte de-a o strânge,
Gândeşte-te că poate te va lovi-ntr-o zi.
Să nu-ţi dezvălui taina din suflet celor răi.
Nădejdile, – ascunse să-ţi stea de lumea toată.
În zâmbet să te ferici de toţi semenii tăi,
Nebunilor nu spune durerea niciodată.
O, tânăr fără prieteni mai vechi de două zile,
Nu te-ngriji de Cerul cu-naltele-i feştile!
Puţinul să-ţi ajungă, şi zăvorât în tine,
Tăcut contemplă jocul umanelor destine.
Pe cei curaţi la suflet şi luminaţi la minte
Neîncetat să-i cauţi. Şi fugi de tonţi şi răi.
Dacă-ţi va da otravă un înţelept, s-o bei -
Şi-aruncă antidotul, un prost de ţi-l întinde.
Renume de-ai să capeţi, hulit vei fi de vulg.
Dar dacă te vei ţine departe de mulţime,
Uneltitor te-or crede. Cum, Doamne, să mă smulg,
Să nu mă ştie nimeni şi să nu ştiu de nime?
Mai toarnă-mi vinul roşu ca un obraz de fată.
Curatul sânge scoate-l din gâturi de ulcioare.
Căci, în afara cupe-i, Khayyām azi nu mai are
Măcar un singur prieten cu inima curată.
Cel care are pâine de astăzi până mâine
Şi-un strop de apă rece în ciobul său frumos,
De ce-ar sluji pe-un altul ce-i este mai prejos?
De ce să fie sclavul unui egal cu sine?
Când zările din suflet ni-s singura avere,
Păstrează-le în taină, ascundele-n tăcere.
Atât timp cât ţi-s limpezi şi văz, şi-auz, şi grai -
Nici ochi şi nici ureche, nici limbă să nu ai.
Nu ştie nimeni taina ascunsă Sus sau Jos.
Şi nici un ochi nu vede dincolo de cortină.
Străini suntem oriunde. Ni-i casa în ţărânâ.
Bea – şi termină-odată cu vorbe de prisos!
Târzii acum mi-s anii. lubirea pentru tine
Mi-a pus în mână cupa cu degetele-i fine.
Tu mi-ai ucis căinţa şi mintea îngereşte.
- Dar timpul, fără milă – şi roza desfrunzeşte…
Puţină apă şi puţină pâine
Şi ochii tăi în umbra parfumată.
N-a fost sultan mai fericit vreodată
Şi nici un cerşetor mai trist ca mine
Atâta duioşie la început. De ce?
Atâtea dulci alinturi şi-atâtea farmece
În ochi, în glas, în gesturi – apoi. De ce? Şi-acum
De ce sunt toate ură şi lacrimă şi fum?
Bătrân sunt, dar iubirea m-a prins iar în capcană.
Acum buzele tale îmi sunt şi vin şi cană.
Mi-ai umilit mândria şi biata raţiune,
Mi-ai sfâşiat vestmântul cusut de-nţelepciune.
Tu vezi doar aparenţe. Un văl ascunde firea.
Tu ştii de mult aceasta. Dar inima, firava,
Tot vrea să mai iubească. Căci ni s-a dat iubirea
Aşa cum unor plante le-a dat Alah otrava.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Mosque of Cordoba by Allama Iqbal (1933)

The Mezquita (Spanish for "Mosque") of Cordoba is a beautiful and fascinating building that symbolizes the many religious changes Cordoba has undergone over the centuries. Today, the Mezquita is the cathedral of Cordoba (officially the Cathedral of St. Mary of the Assumption), but the vast majority of its art and architecture is the work of Islamic architects, who built it as a mosque in the 8th century.
The site on which the Mezquita stands has long been a sacred space – it was host to a Roman temple dedicated to Janus and a Visigothic cathedral dedicated to St Vincent of Saragossa before the mosque was constructed in the 8th century. Finally, a cathedral was added inside the mosque by the Christian conquerors in the early 13th century.

The construction of the Mezquita lasted for over two centuries, starting in 784 AD under the supervision of the emir of Cordoba, Abd ar-Rahman I. Under Abd ar-Rahman II (822-52), the Mezquita held an original copy of the Koran and an arm bone of the prophet Mohammed, making it a major Muslim pilgrimage site.

The Mosque underwent numerous subsequent changes: Abd ar-Rahman III ordered a new minaret (9th century), while Al-Hakam II enlarged the plan of the building and enriched the mihrab (961). The last of the reforms, including the completion of the outer aisles and orange tree courtyard, were completed by Al-Mansur Ibn Abi Aamir in 987.

When finished, the Mezquita was the most magnificent of the more than 1,000 mosques in Cordoba. But Cordoba was subject to frequent invasion and each conquering wave added their own mark to the architecture.

In 1236, Cordoba was captured from the Moors by King Ferdinand III of Castile and rejoined Christendom. The Christians initially left the architecture Mezquita largely undisturbed - they simply consecrated it, dedicated it to the Virgin Mary, and used it as a place of Christian worship.

King Alfonso X oversaw the construction of the Villaviciosa Chapel and the Royal Chapel within the structure of the mosque. The kings who followed added further Christian features: Enrique II rebuilt the chapel in the 14th century; a nave was constructed with the patronage of Carlos V, king of a united Spain.

The heavy, incongruous Baroque choir was sanctioned in the very heart of the mosque by Charles V in the 1520s. Artists and architects continued to add to the existing structure until the late 18th century, making the Mezquita an intriguing architectural oddity.

In 1931, Dr. Allama Muhammad Iqbal was the first Muslim to pray in the Mezquita since it was closed to Islam. In 1984, the historic center of Cordoba, including the Mezquita, was made a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Mezquita de Cordoba is most notable for its giant arches and its forest of over 856 (of an original 1,293) columns of jasper, onyx, marble, and granite. These were taken from the Roman temple which had previously occupied the site and other destroyed Roman buildings.

The Mezquita also features richly gilded prayer niches. But the Mezquita's most interesting feature is certainly the mihrab, a domed shrine of Byzantine mosaics built by Al Hakam II (961-76). It once housed the Koran and relics of Muhammad. In front of the Mihrab is the Maksoureh, a kind of anteroom for the caliph and his court; its mosaics and plasterwork make it a masterpiece of Islamic art.

Although it does not fit in with the rest of the mosque, the 16th-century Baroque choir is an impressive sight, with an intricate ceiling and richly carved 18th-century choir stalls.

Outside the Mezquita is the Courtyard of the Orange Trees (Patio de los Naranjos), which in springtime is perfumed with orange blossoms and has a beautiful fountain.

The Torre del Alminar, the minaret once used to summon the faithful to prayer, has a Baroque belfry. Hardy travelers can climb to the top to catch a panoramic view of Córdoba and its surroundings.

Masjid 2 Masjid in HD Masjid Al-Nabawi

Al-Masjid an-Nabawi (Arabic: المسجد النبوي) or the Prophet's Mosque is a great mosque in Medina, Saudi Arabia. It stands on the site of a mosque built by the Prophet Muhammad himself next to his house and contains his tomb. The Prophet's Mosque is the second holiest mosque in the world after al-Haram in Mecca. (Al-Aqsa in Jerusalem comes in third.)
The original Prophet's Mosque was built by the Prophet himself, next to the house where he settled after his Hijrah (emigration) to Medina in 622 AD. It was an open-air building with a raised platform for the reading of the Qur'an.

A square enclosure of 30x35 meters, the mosque was built with palm trunks and mud walls and accessed through three doors: Bab Rahmah to the south, Bab Jibril to the west and Bab al-Nisa' to the east. The basic plan of the building has since been adopted in the building of other mosques throughout the world.

Inside, the Prophet created a shaded area to the south called the suffrah and aligned the prayer space facing north towards Jerusalem. When the qibla (prayer direction) was changed to Mecca, the mosque was re-oriented to the south. The mosque also served as a community center, a court, and a religious school. Seven years later (629 AD/7 AH), the mosque was doubled in size to accommodate the increasing number of Muslims.

Subsequent Islamic rulers continued to enlarge and embellish the Prophet's Mosque over the centuries. In 707, Umayyad Caliph al-Walid (705-715) tore down the old structure and built a larger one in its place, incorporating the house and tomb of the Prophet.

This mosque was 84 by 100 meters in size, with stone foundations and a teak roof supported on stone columns. The mosque walls were decorated with mosaics by Coptic and Greek craftsmen, similar to those seen in the Umayyad mosque in Damascus and the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (built by the same caliph). The courtyard was surrounded by a gallery on four sides, with four minarets on its corners. A mihrab topped by a small dome was built on the qibla wall.

Abbasid Caliph al-Mahdi (775-785) destroyed the northern section of al-Walid's mosque between 778 and 781 to enlarge it further. He also added 20 doors to the mosque: eight on each of the east and west walls, and four on the north wall.

During the reign of the Mamluk Sultan Qala'un, a dome was erected above the house and tomb of the Prophet and an ablution fountain was built outside of Bab al-Salam. Sultan Nasir bin Muhammad bin Qala'un rebuilt the fourth minaret that had been destroyed earlier. After a lightning strike destroyed much of the mosque in 1481, Sultan Qaytbay rebuilt the east, west and qibla walls.

The Ottoman sultans who controlled Medina from 1517 until World War I also made their mark. Sultan Suleyman I (1520-1566) rebuilt the western and eastern walls of the mosque and built the northeastern minaret known as al-Suleymaniyya. He added a new mihrab (al-Ahnaf) next to the Prophet's mihrab (al-Shafi'iyyah) and placed a new dome covered in lead sheets and painted green above the Prophet's house and tomb.

During the reign of Ottoman Sultan Abdulmecid I (1839-1861), the mosque was entirely remodeled with the exception of the Prophet's Tomb, the three mihrabs, the minbar and the Suleymaniyya minaret. The precinct was enlarged to include an ablution area to the north. The prayer hall to the south was doubled in width and covered with small domes equal in size except for domes covering the mihrab area, Bab al-Salam and the Prophet's Tomb.

The domes were decorated with Quranic verses and lines from Nahj al-Burdah, the famous poem by 13th-century Arabic poet al-Busiri. The qibla wall was covered with glazed tiles featuring Quranic calligraphy. The floors of the prayer hall and the courtyard were paved with marble and red stones and a fifth minaret (al-Majidiyya), was built to the west of the enclosure.

After the foundation of the Saudi Kingdom of Arabia in 1932, the Mosque of the Prophet underwent several major modifications. In 1951 King Abdul Aziz (1932-1953) ordered demolitions around the mosque to make way for new wings to the east and west of the prayer hall, which consisted of concrete columns with pointed arches. Older columns were reinforced with concrete and braced with copper rings at the top. The Suleymaniyya and Majidiyya minarets were replaced by two minarets in Mamluk revival style. Two additional minarets were erected to the northeast and northwest of the mosque. A library was built along the western wall to house historic Qurans and other religious texts.

In 1973 Saudi King Faisal bin Abdul Aziz ordered the construction of temporary shelters to the west of the mosque to accommodate the growing number of worshippers in 1981, the old mosque was surrounded by new prayer areas on these sides, enlarging five times its size.

The latest renovations took place under King Fahd and have greatly increased the size of the mosque, allowing it to hold a large number of worshippers and pilgrims and adding modern comforts like air conditioning.
As it stands today, the Prophet's Mosque has a rectangular plan on two floors with the Ottoman prayer hall projecting to the south. The main prayer hall occupies the entire first floor. The mosque enclosure is 100 times bigger than the first mosque built by the Prophet and can accommodate more than half a million worshippers.

The Prophet's Mosque has a flat paved roof topped with 24 domes on square bases. Holes pierced into the base of each dome illuminate the interior. The roof is also used for prayer during peak times, when the 24 domes slide out on metal tracks to shade areas of the roof, creating light wells for the prayer hall. At these times, the courtyard of the Ottoman mosque is also shaded with umbrellas affixed to freestanding columns. The roof is accessed by stairs and escalators. The paved area around the mosque is also used for prayer, equipped with umbrella tents.

The north façade has three evenly spaced porticos, while the east, west and south façades have two. The walls are composed of a series of windows topped by pointed arches with black and white voussoirs. There are six peripheral minarets attached to the new extension, and four others frame the Ottoman structure. The mosque is lavishly decorated with polychrome marble and stones. The columns are of white marble with brass capitals supporting slightly pointed arches, built of black and white stones. The column pedestals have ventilation grills that regulate the temperature inside the prayer hall.

This shiny new Prophet's Mosque contains the older mosque within it. The two sections can be easily distinguished: the older section has many colorful decorations and numerous small pillars; the new section is in gleaming white marble and is completely air-conditioned.

The most notable feature of the Prophet's Mosque is the green Dome of the Prophet, which rises higher amongst the sea of white domes. This is where the tomb of the Prophet Muhammad is located; early Muslim leaders Abu Bakr and Umar ibn al-Khattab are buried in an adjacent area as well.

At the heart of the mosque is a small area called ar-Rawdah an-Nabawiyah (Arabic: الروضة النبوية), which extends from the tomb of the Prophet to his pulpit. All pilgrims attempt to visit and pray in ar-Rawdah, for there is a tradition that supplications and prayers uttered here are never rejected. Entrance into ar-Rawdah is not always possible (especially during the Hajj), as the tiny area can accommodate only a few hundred people. Ar-Rawdah has two small gateways manned by Saudi soldiers charged with preventing overcrowding in the tiny area.

The green fence at the tomb of Muhammad is guarded by Wahhabi volunteers, who prevent pilgrims from touching the fence, which the Wahhabis regard as idolatry. The structure called Muhammad's pulpit is similarly guarded. The current marble pulpit was constructed by the Ottomans; the original was much smaller and made of palm tree wood.

The mosque is located in what was traditionally the center of Medina, with many hotels and old markets nearby. It is a major pilgrimage site and many people who perform the Hajj in Mecca later come to Medina to visit the mosque.


Tuesday, November 16, 2010
























Tuesday, November 9, 2010

تجمع المثق

السيمفونية الرمادية

يا أحبابي :
كان بوُدّي أن أُسْمِعَكُمْ
هذي الليلةَ ، شيئاً من أشعار الحُبّْ
فالمرأةُ في كلِّ الأعمارِ ،
ومن كلِّ الأجناسِ ،
ومن كلِّ الألوانِ
تدوخُ أمامَ كلامِ الحُبّْ
كان بوُدّي أن أسرقَكُمْ بِضْعَ ثوانٍ
من مملكةِ الرَمْلِ ، إلى مملكةِ العُشْبْ
يا أحبابي :
كان بودّي أن أُسْمِعَكُمْ
شيئاً من موسيقى القلبْ
لكنَّا في عصرٍ عربيٍّ
فيهِ توقّفَ نَبْضُ القلبْ ...
يا أحبابي :
كيف بوُسْعي ؟
أن أتجاهلَ هذا الوطَنَ الواقعَ فيِ أنيابِ
الرُعْبْ ؟
أن أتجاوزَ هذا الإفلاسَ الروحيَّ
وهذا الإحباطَ القوميَّ
وهذا القَحْطَ .. وهذا الجَدْبْ .
يا أحبابي :
كان بودّي أن أُدخِلَكُمْ زَمَنَ الشّعِرْ
لكَّن العالمَ – واأسَفَاه – تَحوَّلَ وحشا مجنوناً
يَفْتَرِسُ الشّعرْ ..
يا أحبابي :
أرجو أن أتعلَّمَ منكمْ
كيف يُغنّي للحرية مَنْ هُوَ في أعماقِ البئرْ
أرجو أن أتعلّم منكمْ
كيف الوردةُ تنمُو من أَشْجَارِ القهرْ
أرجو أن أتعلّم منكمْ
كيف يقول الشاعرُ شِعْراً
وهوَ يُقلَّبُ مثلَ الفَرْخَةِ فوقَ الجمرة..
لا هذا عصرُ الشِعْرِ ، ولا عصرُ الشُعَراءْ
هل يَنْبُتُ قمحٌ من جَسَد الفقراءْ ؟
هل يَنْبُتُ وردٌ من مِشْنَقَةٍ ؟
أم هل تَطْلَعُ من أحداقِ الموتى أزهارٌ حمراءْ؟
هل تَطْلَعُ من تاريخ القَتلِ قصيدةُ شعرٍ
أم هل تخرُجُ من ذاكرةِ المَعْدنِ يوماً قطرةُ ماءْ
تتشابهُ كالُرّزِ الصينيّ .. تقاطيعُ القَتَلَهْ
مقتولٌ يبكي مقتولاً
جُمجُمةٌ تَرْثي جُمْجُمةً
وحذاءٌ يُدفَنُ قُرْبَ حذاءْ
لا أحدٌ يعرِفُ شيئاً عن قبر الحلاّجِ
فنِصْفُ القَتلى في تاريخِ الفِكْرِ ،
بلا أسماءْ ...

تجمع المثق ...

باقون هنا

نحن باقون هنا ..
هذه الأرض من الماء إلى الماء .. لنا
ومن القلب إلى القلب .. لنا
ومن الآه إلى الآه ..لنا
كل دبوس إذا أدمى بلادي
هو في قلبي أنا
نحن باقون هنا
هذه الأرض هي الأم التي ترضعنا
وهي الخيمة ، والمعطف ، والملجأ
والثوب الذي يسترنا
وهي السقف الذي نأوي إليه
وهي الصدر الذي يدفئنا ..
وهي الحرف الذي نكتبه ..
وهي الشعر الذي يكتبنا ..
كلما هم أطلقوا سهما عليها ..
غاص في قلبي أنا
سندباد كان بحارا خليجيا عظيما .. من هنا
والذين اشتركوا في رحلة الأحلام ، هم أولادنا
والمجاديف التي شقت جبال الموج كانت من هنا ..
إننا نعرف هذا البحر جدا .. مثلما يعرفنا ..
فعلى أمواجه الزرق ولدنا
ومع الأسماك في البحر سبحنا ..
ومع الصبيان في الحي .. لعبنا .. وسهرنا .. وعشقنا ..
هذه الأرض التي تدعى الكويت
هبة الله إلينا
ورضاء الأب والأم علينا
كم زرعنا أرضها نخلا وشعرا
كم شردنا في بواديها صغارا
ونخلنا رملها شبرا فشبرا
وعلى بلور عينيها جلسنا نتمرى
هذه الأرض التي تدعى الكويت
بيدر القمح الذي يطعمنا
نعمة الرب الذي كرمنا
ويد الله التي تحرسنا
قد عرفنا ألف حب قبلها ..
وعرفنا ألف حب بعدها ..
غير أنا
ما وجدنا امرأة أكثر سحرا
ما وجدنا وطنا
أكثر تحنانا ، ولا أرحم صدرا
هذه الأرض التي تدعى الكويت
هي منا .. ولنا
كل دبوس إذا أوجعها .. هو في قلبي أنا ..
هذه الأرض التي تدعى الكويت ..
نحن معجونون في ذراتها ..
نحن هذا اللؤلؤ المخبوء في أعماقها ..
نحن هذا البلح الأحمر في نخلاتها
نحن هذا القمر الغافي على شرفاتها
هي عطر مبحر في دمنا
ومنارات أضاءت غدنا
وهي قلب آخر في قلبنا
الكويتيون باقون هنا
الكويتيون باقون هنا
وجميع العرب الأشراف باقون هنا
الكويتيون باسم الله .. باسم السيف ..
باسم الأرض ، والأطفال ، والتاريخ
باقون هنا
نلثم الثغر الذي يلثمنا
نقطع الكف التي تضربنا

مذكرات طفلة فلسطينية

مذكرات طفلة فلسطينية

رأيتها...ولكن في خرائط قديمة..
قرأت عنها..ولكن في صفحات التاريخ البعيدة..
سمعت بها..ولكن لم أرى الواقع الصحيح..ولا الحديث الصادق..
ظننتهم يكذبون علي..
كل من حولي ..الشاشة والصحف..الدول والأوطان..
أمي ..أبي..
أين أمتي التي تحكون عنها؟
مابال بيتنا هدم؟!والمستوطنون يعيثون بمدينتنا فسادا وتقتيلا.
إين أمتي التي تقولون إنها الشجاعة؟هي م خلفت أبطالا ورجالا!!
أين أمتي التي سمعت بها..وقرأت عنها؟
كل منحولي يكذبون علي..
لم أرى ذلك البطل الذي
ركب خيله وسل سيفه..
لم أرى ذلك الشجاع الذي بدمه حرر أرضه..
أتدرون ما أرى من أمتي التي تحكون عنها؟
أراها في شاشاتنا الحديثة؟؟وفي صحفنا المنشورة ..
أراها قد أحيت تلك الحفلة الغنائية!ّ!واستضافت كما قالوا النجوم!!
لا..لا..ليس هم النجوم الذين قرأت عنهم....وليسواالرجال الذين عجبت منهم..
هناك..نعم هناك..
جدار سقفه عال..لا أستطيع رؤية ماخلفه..
جدار أسمع من وراءه أصوات غريبة..
أصوات تقول(قادمون..سنأتي),كلامهم مثل الذي قرأت عنه..
أظن أن خلفه النجوم التي قرأت عنها في الصفحات المحروقة..
وليس النجوم الوهمية.. التي لطخت أمتنا بالأوساخ..
الله ماأحلى ذلك الحلم..
حين أرى بريقها..يسطع في الأرض..وتحيي حفلة إستشهادية..

وتقول ((فلسطيني ........فلسططيني .........عائدون ............عائدون ))

تخلص من العصبيه بالمشمش

مع ارتفاع حرارة الجو في فصل الصيف تزداد الضغوط العصبية مع ازدحام المرور وتوتر العمل وصراخ الأبناء بالإضافة إلي مواجهة مشاكل الحياة اليومية التى لا تنتهي ، كلها أمور حياتية تزيد العصبية التى يصعب معها السيطرة على الأعصاب.

ولا شك أن الراحة والاسترخاء ليس أمراً صعب المنال ولا رفاهية كما يتخيلها البعض ، ولكن يمكنك الاستمتاع مرة أخري بحياتك بهدوء وسعادة وبدون أي تكاليف أو الحاجة لطبيب نفسي أو حتى الشكوى لجارك

مهدئات طبيعية

احرص أن يحتوي طعامك اليومي قدر المستطاع علي تسعة مأكولات محددة تمنحك الهدوء الداخلي والراحة النفسية والتوازن العصبي ، حيث نصحت مجلة "ماري كلير - Marie Claire " الأمريكية بحسب جريدة "الجمهورية بتناول بعض الأطعمة خلال تقرير علمي نشر مؤخرا ، وهذه المأكولات التسعة المضادة للعصبية أو أطعمة السعادة والهدوء النفسي هي.

البرتقال: أكدت دراسة أجراها معهد علم الأدوية النفسية الألماني أن البرتقال بشكل خاص بجانب بعض المأكولات التي تحتوي علي فيتامين C له تأثير كبير في التقليل من الشعور بالضغوط والعصبية وفي ضبط ضغط الدم لمعدلاته المطلوبة خاصة بعد المرور بتجربة عصبية أو لحظات توتر أو موقف عنيف كما أن البرتقال له دور كبير في رفع كفاءة الجهاز المناعي للجسم.

البطاطا: تحتوي علي مجموعة كاملة متكاملة من المواد الغذائية الضرورية لتساعدك علي التخلص من الضغوط. من أهمها أنها تلبي حاجة جسمك من الكربوهيدرات والسكريات التي تحتاجين إليها عند الشعور بالعصبية ، كما تحتوي علي مجموعة متنوعة من الفيتامينات والبيتا كاروتين والألياف التي تمد الجسم باحتياجاته وتساعد علي إبطاء عملية حرق الكربوهيدرات مما يوفر الطاقة اللازمة للجسم بشكل ثابت.

المشمش: غني بالمغنسيوم المفيد في استرخاء العضلات وتهدئة الأعصاب والتهيؤ للنوم بكل الهدوء وصفاء النفس.

الأفوكادو: أكد المعهد القومي الأمريكي لعلوم القلب والرئة والدم أن ثمار الأفوكادو غنية بالدهون الأحادية المفيدة وبالبوتاسيوم التي تساعد علي خفض ضغط الدم بنسبة تتجاوز حتى الموجودة في الموز.

فالحفاظ علي توازن نسبة البوتاسيوم في الجسم يمنحك القدرة علي التحكم في أعصابك وردود أفعالك والشعور بالاسترخاء والهدوء.

المكسرات "اللوز. الفستق. عين الجمل. اللب الأبيض": غنية بفيتاميني هـ E. بي B المهمين في رفع مناعة الجسم ومساعدته في القيام بمهامه بكفاءة ، كما أن المكسرات مفيدة في خفض ضغط الدم العالي والشعور بالهدوء والراحة.

السبانخ: أكل ما يملأ كوب منها يمدك ب 40% من احتياجات جسمك اليومية من الماغنسيوم.

سمك السلمون: غني للغاية بالأحماض الدهنية الأوميجا 3 التي تحمي من أمراض القلب وتقي من الذبحة الصدرية كما أنها تحمي من أن تتجاوز هرمونات الكورتيزول والأدرينالين التي يزيد إفرازها في الجسم عند المرور بمواقف عصبية حدودها القصوي فتقي من تجاوز نسبتها في الدم ومن أضرارها السلبية.
*****اللهم إنى استودعك قلبى فلا تجعل فيه أحد غيرك واستودعك لا إله إلا الله فلقنها لى عند موتى:::

جئت منها كي أعود اليها .. هكذا غازل سمير

جئت الى لبنان كي أعود الى فلسطين ... بهذه الكلمات الكبيرة ذات الدلالات العالية اختصر القائد العائد المحرر الكبير سمير القنطار كل المواقف ووضع نقطة آخر السطر ، محدداً ملامح مسيرته في الحرية.
قال في خطابه للآلاف المؤلفة التي حضرت لتحيته واستقباله ، أن خياره لم يتبدل ولم يتغير فهو خيار المقاومة التي تصل الى شبعا وما بعد بعد شبعا في اشارة واضحة الى تحرير فلسطين والى أن الصراع وجودي وليس حدودي. فهو آمن ومازال مؤمناً بأن الحل في فلسطين لا يمكن أن يكون بدون استئصال كيان الارهاب الصهيوني منها. وعودة شعب فلسطين الى الأرض المحتلة. وتكنيسها من الاحتلال وتركته ومخلفاته.

كان سمير منذ صغره مشروع مناضل ثوري ، مشروع قائد كبير، مشروع مقاومة لا مساومة. لذا التزم بالنضال والجهاد طريقاً فكانت باكورة اعماله الجهادية عملية نهاريا البطولية. قبل أن يقع في الأسر على اثر العملية التي تخللتها مواجهات ضارية مع الصهاينة، استطاع سمير أن يصيب أحد الجنرالات الصهاينة بجراح خطرة، وأن يقتل عالم ذرة صهيوني. وأن يقتل ويجرح هو ورفاقه عشرات الجنود ورجال الشرطة الصهاينة.

بعد تلك الموقعة الشهيرة التي طيرت عقل مناحيم بيغن واركان سلطته. أسر سمير جريحاً وفي صدره الرصاص وفي قلبه الايمان. فتحدى الجلادين وكلابهم المحلية. وأصر على كل الأفكار التي آمن بها والتي جاء من أجلها ورفض ان يأسف أو يندم ويعتذر عما قام به. فانتقم منه الصهاينة بحكمه مئات السنين وعدداً من المؤبدات في السجن. لم يهتم لهم ولا لأحكامهم فعاش في السجن مقاوماً لمدة ثلاثين سنة، صنع خلالها مجده واسطورته واصبح واحداً من أهم قادة الأسرى في فلسطين وفي سجون الصهاينة. فخرج اجيالاً من المناضلين وأصبح بامتياز عميد الاسرى اللبنانيين و العرب.

يوم حريته وبعد وصوله الى بيروت عاصمة المقاومة تحدث سمير بما يليق به وحده. فأظهر براعة عالية في الخطابة وحبك الكلمات وتحديد واختيار العبارات. أنه قائد مقاوم كما وصفه قائد الصدق والوعد الصادق وسيد المقاومة وشيخ الأمة حسن نصرالله. نعم فسمير قائد فذ ورجل صلب. ومؤمن كل الايمان بأن لبنان خلق للمقاومة ومن اجل أن يكون وطناً للمقاومين. وهذا ما اثبته في خطابين متتاليين القاهما بعد ساعات من عودته في الضاحية الجنوبية وجبل لبنان.

هذه الكلمات التي قالها سمير وهو يرتدي اللباس العسكري الخاص بالوحدات الخاصة للمقاومة جعلت الصهاينة يفقدون صوابهم, فشنوا عليه هجوماً كبيراً وصل حد قيام المحلل العسكري الصهيوني الارهابي رون يشاي الذي يعمل في صحيفة يديعوت احرانوت لتوجيه تهديد علني للقنطار بتصفيته جسدياً واغتياله. وذكر سمير بالذين اغتالهم الصهاينة من المناضلين الفلسطينيين واللبنانيين والعرب.

كتب يشاي ما يلي :" نصيحة صغيرة لسمير القنطار، اسأل رفاقك في منظمة التحرير وحزب الله عن مصير قتلة مدنيين إسرائيليين ويهود بعد مرور سنوات بدا فيها لهم أنه تم نسيان أعمالهم" .

وأضاف: " ماذا حصل، مثلاً، لقتلة الرياضيين في ميونيخ ومرسليهم، الذين أعاد آخرهم روحه للباري في ظروف غير طبيعية بعد 24 عاما بعد المذبحة المروعة؟ تعلّم من الماضي واستخلص العبر .... " . بهذا التهديد الواضح والصريح اختتم يشاي مقالته.

كذلك نقلت صحيفة يديعوت احرانوت عن مصدر أمني صهيوني كبير قوله " ان القنطار أصبح مرشحاً للتصفية والقتل من قبل اسرائيل". وأضاف المصدر نفسه أن : "سمير القنطار الذي حرر أمس في اطار الصفقة مع حزب الله اصبح ابن موت" مؤكدا "اسرائيل ستصل اليه، وهو سيصفى. وتابع نفس المصدر فأضاف : " أن اسرة الاستخبارات الاسرائيلية لن تهدأ الى أن يصفى القنطار. فليس لنا، بعد خروجه من السجن، أي التزام تجاه القنطار فهو قاتل سافل وسيصفى الحساب معه حتى النهاية".

جاء رد سمير مدوياً من مسقط رأسه عبيه في جبل العرب حيث استغل كلمته بالقول : وصلتني معلومات بأن " الصهاينة قرروا اغتيالي".. أضاف ان هذا لا يخيفه واستشهد بقول للامام الحسين عن الموت والشهادة. وأكد أنه لا بديل عن التزامه بنهج المقاومة والعمل من أجل تحرير شبعا وما بعد بعد شبعا. القنطار واثق من نفسه ومن مقاومته لكننا نقول له أن عليه أخذ الحيطة والحذر وعدم التهاون مع التهديدات التي اطلقها الصهاينة لأنهم مجرمون ولا يلتزمون بالقانون ولا يحترمون احداً. وباعتقادنا أن سمير القنطار يعرفهم أكثر منا كلنا لذا لا بد أنه سيكون محتاطاً وحذراً وواعياً لخطورة الأيام القادمة. "اسرائيل" الصهيونية لا تريد بقاء عربي واحد يتحدث عن معاناة الأسرى الفلسطينيين والعرب في سجونها. كما أنها لا تريد كذلك أن تسمع عربياً يتحدث عن المقاومة خياراً لتحرير الاراضي العربية المحتلة. فكيف والمتحدث العميد سمير القنطار الذي أذاقهم الهوان والذل وقهرهم خلال ثلاثين عاماً من انتظار حريته. وهم يعرفون جيداً شعبية وتأثير سمير القنطار في لبنان وسوريا وفلسطين وبلاد العرب أجمعين...

Monday, November 1, 2010

يا ليتها ما راحت وخلتني او وسعت لي

اهداء الى روح امي الطاهرة رحمها الله
ياليتها ماراحت وخلتني او وسعت لي بالقبر وياها
قصيده مؤثره جدا
خايف عليها من الثّرى غطاها...
والا الحصى حافي..أخاف أذّاها...
أكرم عليها بالكفن يامطوّع...
بالبيت ظلّ فراشها وغطاها...
أكرم عليهابالكفن هذي امي...
وإشهد عليها بما عطت يمناها...
هذي الضّحى والليل يتحرونه...
هذي السّماء ونجومها تنعاها...
هذي السوالف مثلنا تبكيها...
والأرض تنشد عن أثر لخطاها...
هذي الكبيرة كبر هذي الدنيا...
هذي العظيمه جلّ من سواها...
أبكي عليهامو نهار وليله...!
ولا سنه تمشي وأعد قضاها...
أبكي عليها كثر ماشالتني...
وكثر الحنين اللي إختلط بغناها...
وكثر الأسامي..وكثر من سمّوها...
وكثرالنجوم..وكثر من يرعاها...
ابكي عليها من القهر يادنيا...
من لي انا؟ من لي عقب فرقاها ؟
من فتحت عيني.. ولاخلّتني...
شوفوا ولدها بالقبر خلاها !!
هلّ التراب بوجهها.. ماقصّر...
شفتوا ولدها كيف هو جازاها ؟
لوإنها مكاني ماسوّتها...
لكن أعزّ عيالهاسواها...
يالدود شفها ذابله .. جنّبها...
أنا ولدها .. وحاضر .. وأفداها...
قطّعني هاك اللي تبي من جسمي...
بس الكريمه لا تجي بحذاها...
وأوصيك أمانه قل لهاتعذرني...
وتكفى تروح تحب لي ماطاها...
أبيها تغفرلي مثل ماكانت...
كل خمله مني بطيبها .. ترفاها...
يالله عساها بالنعيم الخالد...
وعساها فيجنة عدن سكناها...
يافضو هذا الكون .. ياهو خالي...
ياضيق هذي الدنيا .. يا مقساها...
يامر طعم فراقها.. يامرّه...
ماني مصدق أرجع وما ألقاها؟!
وشلون أجي غرفتها ماهي فيها؟
وش عذري لسبحتها .. ومصلّاها؟
شـ أقول أنا لدولابها , لشنطتها؟
واذا سئلني مشطها , وحنّاها؟
وعباتها , ومي زمزم , ومصحفها؟
والمبخره ,ورشوشها, وإدواها؟
الكل في غرفتها متفقدها ...
حتى الجدار .. مفطّر ويرجاها...
الكل يبكيها .. ماهو ناسيها...
يالله صبّرني شلون أنساها...
ياليتها ماراحت وخلتني...
أو وسعت لي بالقبر وياها...

تاغس: ام محمد

العودة.. حلم.. أم حقٌّ

من بين أطلال 531 مدينة وقرية ومن بين 600 ضيعة وقرية صغيرة, خرج ولم يعد أكثر من ستة ملايين فلسطيني منذ حرب العام 1948

وحتى اليوم 2008, ومن هؤلاء تشكل ما أضحى يعرف بظاهرة اللاجئين الفلسطينيين الموزعين على أرجاء المعمورة كافة وخاصة المعمورة العربية التي كانت تسمى سلفا ب(الوطن العربي) وباسم هؤلاء وبسبب مأساتهم تشكل ما بات يسمى بحق العودة: ذلك الحق الذي انبنى عليه, وصدر بشأنه عشرات القرارات والتوصيات الدولية, وعقدت بشأنه آلاف المؤتمرات والندوات, وللأسف ذهبت كلها أدراج الرياح بسبب ممالئة الغرب وتآمره مع (إسرائيل) لانتزاع وطن من أهله, ومصادرته مدى الحياة: في أبشع جريمة ضد الإنسانية, جريمة وفقا للقوانين الوضعية- قبل السماوية- لاتسقط بالتقادم.‏‏

إن العودة ليست حلما, بل حق أقرته المواثيق الدولية, عودة إلى البيت الذي طرد منه الفلسطيني وليس إلى أي مكان آخر داخل فلسطين كما تحاول أن تفرضه محاولات التسوية الجديدة منذ أوسلو وحتى مارثون أولمرت أبو مازن التفاوضي العبثي وحق العودة تعني حق الحصول على الجنسية الفلسطينية دون قيود.‏‏

إن أبرز وأقدم قرار صدر عن الأمم المتحدة بشأن حق العودة هو القرار رقم 194 الصادر يوم 11 أيلول 1948 يقضي بحق اللاجئين الفلسطينيين في العودة والتعويض ( وليس: أو التعويض) وأصر المجتمع الدولي على تأكيد قرار 194 منذ عام 1948 أكثر من 135 مرة ولم يعارضه إلا الكيان الصهيوني وأميركا.‏‏

وحق العودة أيضا تابع من حرمة المليكة الخاصة التي لا تزول بالاحتلال أو بتغيير السيادة على البلاد.‏‏

وبالرغم من عدم تطبيق القرار 194. إلا أن ذلك لايدل على سقوطه, حيث إنه ينظم حقا لا يسقط بالتقادم, مهما طالت المدة التي حرم فيها الفلسطينيون من العودة إلى ديارهم, لأنه حق غير قابل للتصرف. وهذا يعني أنه من الحقوق الثابتة الراسخة, مثل باقي حقوق الإنسان لا تنقضي بمرور الزمن, ولا تخضع للمفاوضة أو التنازل, ولا تسقط أو تعدل أو يتغير مفهومها في أي معاهدة أو اتفاق سياسي من أي نوع, حتى لو وقعت على ذلك جهات تمثل الفلسطينيين أي أنه لا يسقط بتوقيع ممثلي الشعب على إسقاطه, إلا إذا وقع كل شخص بنفسه وبملء إرادته على إسقاط هذا الحق عن نفسه فقط, وهذا بالطبع جريمة وطنية وفقا للدراسة المهمة للباحثة ( فجر عاطف) والمعنونة ب ( حق العودة إثباتات القانون ومخاطر التسوية).‏‏

ومن جهة أخرى فباجتماع الحقوق الشخصية الفردية, وبالاعتماد على حق تقرير المصير الذي أكدته الأمم المتحدة لكل الشعوب عام 1946, وخصت به الفلسطينيين عام 1969 وجعلته حقا غير قابل للتصرف للفلسطينيين في قرار 3236 عام 1974 يصبح بذلك حق العودة حقا جماعيا أيضا. وعليه فكل اتفاق على إسقاط حق غير قابل للتصرف, باطل قانونا, كما أنه ساقط أخلاقيا في الضمير الفلسطيني والعالمي, وتنص المادة الثانية من معاهدة جنيف الرابعة لعام 1949 على أن أي اتفاق بين القوة المحتلة والشعب المحتل أو ممثليه باطلة قانونا, إذا أسقطت حقوقه.‏‏

إن الرد على ما ظل قادة الكيان الصهيوني يزعمونه بأن لهم الحق في دولة وفقا لقرار التقسيم, فبخلاف التأكيد على وجهة النظر الرافضة لهذا القرار- فقد أعلن الكيان الصهيوني حينها أن شرعيته الدولية تنبع من قرار التقسيم رقم 181 الصادر في 29/11/1947, والذي يوصي ( ولا يلزم) بأن تقسم فلسطين إلى دولة ذات حكومة عربية وأخرى يهودية, وهو القرار نفسه الذي لم يدع أبدا إلى طرد الفلسطينيين من الدولة اليهودية المقترحة, بل على العكس ضمن لهم داخل تلك الدولة الحقوق المدنية والسياسية والدينية والاجتماعية, وأيضا حق الانتخاب والترشيح, وجعل مثل هذا الحق لليهود في الدولة العربية المقترحة, إذن فقرار 181 لم ينشئ دولتين عنصريتين إحداهما عربية خالصة والأخرى يهودية خالصة والقول بذلك هو خاطئ قانونا وعنصريا في الوقت نفسه وقد كان الإقرار بذلك مع الإلزام بقرار 194 شرطين لقبول عضوية الكيان الصهيوني في الأمم المتحدة( فجر عاطف- مصدر سابق).‏‏

ووفقا للمواثيق الدولية فإن للاجئين الحق في التعويض حسب قانون التعويض العام وحسب قرار 194 لكل ما خسروه ماديا ومعنويا منذ 1948 فلهم الحق في التعويض عن الخسائر المادية الفردية مثل تدمير بيوتهم واستغلال ممتلكاتهم لمدة نصف قرن أو يزيد والخسائر المعنوية الفردية مثل المعاناة واللجوء وفقدان أفراد الأسرة, والخسائر المادية الجماعية مثل الطرق والمطارات والسكك الحديدية والموانئ والمياه والمعادن والأماكن المقدسة, مثل فقدان الجنسية والهوية والشتات والاقتلاع والتمييز العنصري والسجلات الوطنية والآثار الحضارية. ولهم أيضا الحق في التعويض عن جرائم الحرب والجرائم ضد الانسانية والجرائم ضد السلام وهذه القوانين والحقائق موجودة في الأمم المتحدة وتم تطبيق أغلبها في حالات مماثلة.‏‏

ويحدثنا التاريخ أنه قد صدرت من الأمم المتحدة عشرات القرارات التي تتناول موضوع اللاجئين, فبتاريخ 14 (تموز) 1967, أصدر مجلس الأمن الدولي القرار رقم 237, وأشار فيه ما نصه أنه إنما:) يدعو حكومة إسرائيل إلى تأمين سلامة وخير وأمن سكان المناطق التي جرت فيها عمليات عسكرية, وتسهيل عودة أولئك الذين فروا من هذه المناطق منذ نشوب القتال), وهو في ذلك لايؤكد فقط على حق العودة, بل يؤكد مفهوم أن الأمر كان تهجيرا قسريا وأنه يعد أثرا من آثار الاحتلال والعدوان, كما يؤكد القرار 3236(تشرين الثاني) 1974 أن حق الفلسطينيين, غير القابل للتصرف, هو العودة إلى ديارهم وممتلكاتهم التي شردوا منها واقتلعوا منها, بل وطالب القرار بإعادتهم بنص قاطع وصريح وسنذكر لاحقا نماذج من القرارات الدولية التي تؤكد هذا الحق ولكن دعونا نلمس الأبعاد الديموغرافية والسياسية لقضية حق العودة, أولا ثم نتناول جوانبها الأخرى ومواثيقها الدولية.‏‏

وبعودة إلى التاريخ القريب يتبين لنا خطورة قضية اللاجئين وحق عودتهم فلقد نشرت وكالة الغوث ( الأنروا) إحصائية لعام 1995 وردت في صحيفة الحياة يوم 1/7/1996 تحت عنوان الانتشار الفلسطيني ) أوضحت أن مجموع المقيمين في الدول العربية المجاورة من فلسطينيي الخارج هو 3127375 غالبيتهم في الأردن حيث يعيش 2145451 , ومنهم في لبنان 550000 وفي سورية 374000 ومصر 057791, كما أوضحت أن مجموع المقيمين من فلسطينيي الخارج في منطقة الخليج 370359 نسمة أكثرهم في السعودية حيث يعيش 240128, ومنهم في الكويت 26000, وفي البحرين وقطر والإمارات العربية 104225 كما يعيش في العراق وليبيا 73359 نسمة, وفي باقي الدول العربية 3656833 من فلسطينيي الخارج يمثلون نحو 47.5% من مجموع شعب فلسطين العربي وهناك 224241 نسمة في الولايات المتحدة الأميركية و244722 نسمة في أقطار أخرى من عالمنا, بما يمثل 6,90% أي أن فلسطينيي الخارج يمثلون 53.9% من مجموع الشعب الفلسطيني العربي البالغ حسب هذه الإحصائية 7697930 نسمة وهذا يعني أن عدد فلسطينيي الداخل الموجودين اليوم على أرض فلسطين هو 3572134 نسمة منهم 1064975 في فلسطين المحتلة عام 489وفي القدس الشرقية المحتلة عام 6719 و 950345 في قطاع غزة و1556814 في الضفة الغربية, كما أن العدد الكلي لفلسطينيي الخارج هو 4125796 نسمة حسب هذه الإحصائية التي تعود إلى عام 1995.‏‏