A poem by Maktoum
The Fire of Love
“O from the burning passion of love,
Robs you of all expectations.
As the night draws on, my mind wanders,
To dreams that fill my disturbed night.
How patient I’ve been, how long I have waited,
For a glimpse of your captivating beauty.
It’s in a place, secluded from the ordinary world,
The path to it, impossible to find.
While my soul is laden with many wounds,
Yet even with patience, my burdens grow.
Just like the seafarer whose ship is at risk,
In a violent storm and raging sea.
O brother, with every verse you write,
I read, and amuse myself now and then.
About passion to who but you, can I turn?
And to whom can I reveal the torment of love?
Your precious verses with passion I welcome,
Welcome to the poet, who answers my woes.
Welcome, and most welcome is he,
He who with gratitude, prayed many times.
In his presence is music to my ears,
A celebration that knows no end.
How proud we are of him, no other we desire,
His words give us complete assurance.
With grace he is gifted, it showers upon us,
He is immersed in it, but bound by the ropes of their great gift.
His answers give seeming remedies,
The answers that we can only dream of.
In thunderous clouds, and carried by the wind,
In gentle rain, with a breeze that teases the clouds.
It brings back to life the parched yellow grass,
Restores the fire to the dying rhymes.
In cool, crystal streams that sparkle through all seasons,
In necklaces wrought of genuine gold.
All secrets we unveil solely for his ears,
His faith in the word gives great hope.
He surrounds me with roads, dangerous and full of peril,
My resolve he seized, and took with great force.
What remained of my soul was but a fraction,
The further he went, the weaker I grew.
Even departed, in my soul you remain,
I pick up a pen and you return to life.”