بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

As-Salaamu Alaikum Sweet Black Sisters!

I am so excited I don’t know what to do!

Tonight is the night I’ve been waiting for. I’m taking my son to go see some REAL HIP-HOP!


I wanted to go with my hubby but he’s not ready yet. :/

So, I’m taking the person I bought the ticket for.

My son, Hakim Rahman Allah, knows more about Hip-Hop than I do. He knows about Classic, Golden-Era, and current Hip-Hop too. He wants to see X, the one person who doesn’t really belong in the show. But I like X too. He was kinda hard. And I can relate because he’s bi-polar, even though he won’t admit it.

Rakim is the dopest emcee thus far. I’ve heard another Brother who is just as good or better content wise. He’s in the Nation so he speaks the TRUTH. Rakim just gives you crumbs and withholds the meat. I hated that growing up!

I wanted to know and learn where he got his knowledge. I don’t know of any rappers who drop Supreme Wisdom who will tell you that everything they drop of TRUTH came from The Honorable Elijah Muhammad (PBUH) and The Nation of Islam.

That is so cruel and selfish and unfair. They just want you to keep buying their records, so they they act like you can get those “jewels” from them. Suckas.

But Al Hamdulillah (All Praises are Due to Allah)

I FOUND IT!!!! !!!!! !!!!!

AND I’m taking my son, The God – HAKIM RAHMAN ALLAH to see the God – Rakim Allah, In Sha Allah (If It Pleases Allah) regardless of his hiding the SOURCE of his Supreme Wisdom. He is still the freshest. It is evident by his last name – ALLAH.

And I will be very happy to boast the “bragging rights” that I saw him perform live. But I am even happier to say that “My twelve-year-old son knows more Supreme Wisdom than Rakim does.”

SUBHANALLAH (Glory be to Allah)
AL HAMDULILLAH (All Praises are Due to Allah)
ALLAHU AKBAR!!! (Allah is the Greatest!!!)

I’m gonna be pissed off though, if he comes out on stage doing some ol’ “I’ma-old-rapper-getting-out-of-breath-rapping-over-the-record” crap! I probably won’t walk out because he is Rakim, but I won’t be happy either. I mean I can listen to the album on YT. Knawmean?

And he better not do some of that whack post-Eric B garbage either. IJS I’m tryna get my groove on. I’m bringing my tambourine and I don’t wanna hafta put it down!

I’m also really excited about seeing Special Ed too. That Brother is HIGHLY INTELLIGENT. I never listened to his lyrics when he was out, I was too caught up in the music, but he has mad skillz.

It will be nice to see Erick and Parrish Making Dollars. I interviewed them once and I saw all the money they made. Erick was with this model looking Sister and boy was I jealous! I think Parrish is married and Scratch is just a little too short. But, it’s good to see them still making cream. Hell, they’re getting mine this time! LOL

Slick Rick is the Storyteller so it’s going to be a pleasure to see him at his craft. Doug is aight on the beat-box. Buff is the greatest but if he’s backing up Ricky D, I’m sure he won’t disappoint. As long as he doesn’t start rapping. Then I’m gonna hafta pull a Project Blowed and kindly ask him to “PLEEEEEASE, PASS THE MIC.” LOL

I’ve never been a fan of Naughty. I mean OPP had a nice track, but I couldn’t get with the lyrics. When they asked the question, I used to answer, “Oh no, not me!”

And I can’t forget the “Juice Crew” alumni BDK and the Biz. I’m kinda scared to see Biz, but I was friends with Big Daddy on FB, and I know what to expect with him. Let’s just say, he grew into his pseudonym. :/

In Sha Allah, I’ll come back with lots of pictures and videos and memories that will last a lifetime.

Hip Hop Don’t Stop.


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Sweet Beautiful Black Sisters!

I have said it enough to make you sick, but I know some of you still do not believe that the entire Caucasian race is a race of devils. I checked my e-mail today and found this.


The devil was too much of a coward to leave it and see what my response was. He deleted it. But, see what I’m saying?

You can click on the picture if you need to see it clearer. :/



Chapter 14

Persecution Follows the Coming of God

     He (Mr. W.F. Muhammad, God in person) chose to suffer 3 1/2 years to show His love for His people, who have suffered over 300 years at the hands of a people who by nature are evil and wicked and have no good in them. He was persecuted, sent to jail in 1932, and ordered out of Detroit, on May 26, 1933. He came to Chicago in the same year and was arrested almost immediately on his arrival and placed behind prison bars.

     He submitted Himself with all humbleness to his persecutors. Each time he was arrested, he sent for me so that I might see and learn the price of Truth for us, the so-called American Negroes (members of the Asiatic nation).

     He was well able to save himself from such suffering, but how else was the scripture to be fulfilled? We followed in his footsteps, suffering the same persecution.

     My people are yet sound asleep to the knowledge of the good that is being carried on for their deliverance. The whole world of our kind awaits the awakening, and our awakening is the last step in the Resurrection and Judgment of the world. It is a sin that we were put so soundly to sleep. The end of the world has arrived, and most of us know it not. Our enemies’ greatest desire is that we remain asleep. My people fight and oppose the God of our own salvation.

     Allah chose for us Islam as a religion. He desires to set us in Heaven at once, on condition that we submit to Him and accept the religion of Islam, the religion of God and His Prophets. In this religion (Islam), He offers us universal friendship, and we who have submitted to Him know this to be true.

     We know white people have and will continue to prosecute anyone who offers help to us, the so-called American Negroes (Asiatics). Should persecution or even death stop the worthy help that will save the lives of the so-called Negroes? No, it shall not.

     The so-called Negroes are absolutely friendless and have sought in vain friendship from their enemies, due to the ignorance of self and their enemies. Now they are offered universal friendship if they will only accept their own (Allah and Islam).

     Seek first the friendship of your own people and then the friendship of others (if there is any friendship in the others).

     We have made the grave mistake of Lazarus and the Prodigal Son, (St. Luke: Chapter 15), the one who was so charmed over the wealth and food of the rich man that he could not leave his gate to seek the same for himself,- regardless of the disgraceful condition in which the rich man puts him, even to sending his dogs to attack him. The angels had to come and take him away.

     The other (Prodigal Son), being tempted by the loose life of strange women, drinking, gambling, and adultery, caused him to love the stranger’s way of life so much so that it cost him all that he originally possessed (self-independence and Divine Guidance). His Father (God in person) had to come and be his representative to again meet his brothers, family, and friends.

     Nothing fits the description of us better, the so called Negroes (Asiatics). Many of us today are so lazy that we are willing to suffer anything rather than go for self. It is true that our God has come to set us in Heaven, but not a Heaven wherein we will not have to work.

     Fear is the worst enemy that we have, but entire submission to Allah (God) and His Messenger will remove this fear. The white race put fear in our foreparents when they were babies, so says the word of Allah.

     We must have for our peace and happiness (the 17,000,000 so-called Negroes) that which other nations have.

     This beforementioned peace and happiness cannot come under any other flag but our own. If God desires for us such joy, why shouldn’t we give up begging and be real men and sit with the rulers of the earth, ruling our own?

     Our first step is to give back to the white man his religion (Christianity), his church, and his names. These three are chains of slavery that hold us in bondage to them. We are free when we give up the above three.

     The so-called Negroes must know that they have been deceived and must be brought face to face with God and the devil. They must get away from the old slavery teaching that Jesus, who was killed 2,000 years ago, is still alive somewhere waiting and listening to their prayers.

     He was only a prophet like Moses and the other prophets and had the same religion (Islam). He did his work and is dead like others of his time and has no knowledge of their prayers to him.

     Since Islam overran mankind in the seventh century after Jesus and is still a power over man, why did not the translators of the Bible mention it? Why didn’t they give us the name of the religions of the prophets, since they claim a religion for Jesus?


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

Tupac Amaru Shakur was probably the realest rapper who ever lived. He grew up poor, sometimes homeless. But his parents raised him to be aware of the condition of his people and to live to do something about it.

His life experiences bore witness to what he had been taught, but being a Blackman in America causes our Brothers to behave in a manner that is other than themselves, if their foundation is not that of Islam, regardless of how socially conscious they may be.

Tupac was very outspoken and this duality (consciousness and thug life) manifested itself in his music and interviews.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance to psychologically mature and possibly grow out of the “wildin’ out” of his youth. He clearly had ideas and a program for the upliftment of his people.

Here is just one example of his reformative views on the wicked and evil treatment of his people – The So-Called American Negroes – by their former slavemasters, the devil Caucasians.


بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم



As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum Sweet Beautiful Asiatic Black Sisters,

I have really become interested in The New Negro Movement, or The Harlem Renaissance as it is more commonly known. I was first introduced to the Harlem Renaissance in college through one of my many Black History courses. This was also during a period of time in which my hometown, Los Angeles, was considered as going through its own Literary and Artistic Black Cultural Renaissance (the 1990’s). I felt honored to be actively involved.

My introduction to The Harlem Renaissance didn’t really pique my interest. I was content in just knowing that it existed. However, lately I have been experiencing a renewed thirst for knowledge on the subject, especially after visiting the Library and quite unexpectedly discovering a book by an author I vaguely remembered as being a part of the Harlem Renaissance: CLAUDE MCKAY.

Mr. McKay was actually born in Jamaica (1889) and emigrated to the United States in his twenties. He published two books of poetry in his native Jamaica but sought greater recognition worldwide. He settled in Harlem and during and after working a few menial jobs wrote and published several of his poems in sundry magazines. One such magazine published his groundbreaking “If We Must Die”.  

During his cosmopolitan life, McKay wrote novels, poems and short stories about this buoyant period in Black History as well as his boyhood in Jamaica. He traveled extensively and became well-acquainted with literary scholars from across the globe.

Perhaps I am so inclined toward his poetry because of its political nature. In fact, the poem that catapulted him into the spotlight was one of the first of “The Harlem Renaissance,” entitled “IF WE MUST DIE.”

images (1)

This poem was single-handedly responsible for propelling the activism-through-artwork that characterized The Harlem Renaissance. Published during the “Red Summer” of 1919, McKay’s poem gave voice to the determination felt by Black people across the country to liberate themselves from the terror of their white slavemasters.

Although the politicism of Brother Claude’s poetry is what enticed me to seek out his other writings, I was equally interested in his literature pertaining to the social climate taking place in Harlem during The Renaissance.

I was fortunate enough to visit Harlem during a trip to Saviour’s Day in 2008 and was enthralled upon first entering the city, just by the AROMA. When we disembarked from the Greyhound bus that carried us for three days across the country to New York, my nostrils were blessed with the sweet scent of incense and oils that blanketed the entire city.

The Jazz Lover in me insisted that we take the A-Train to Harlem and where we lodged in a little Bed and Breakfast that was replete with memorabilia from the most significant era in the city’s history of which I write.

Suffice it to say, I was cleverly enchanted with the city and toyed with the idea of making it my home. So, when this sudden and unexpected interest in the Harlem Renaissance sprang up in me, I embraced it and have not looked back. I checked out every book written by Claude McKay that the Los Angeles Public Library had in stock and have not been disappointed in the least.

The first book I selected happened to be his first novel, entitled Home to Harlem. Interestingly enough, as evidenced in the title of his first novel, Mr. McKay only resided in Harlem for about two years during the Renaissance. The remainder of the time he spent traveling through Europe, participating in the Socialist movement and writing incendiary articles for oppositionist publications.

However, his obvious love for the city is made manifest in his writings and his grasp of the heart and soul of New York City’s “Black Belt” rings clear in his first novel.

After reading just the first page of Home to Harlem I started to put it down. Its casual references to prostitution were exceedingly repulsive, but the book more than redeemed itself through the overt sonnets of love and admiration inspired by and aimed toward the Blackwoman, which was so refreshing and uplifting for me during this particularly nauseating time of the Blackman’s rampant defection from his own Nation, preferring the ugly devil Caucasian woman over his own Beautiful Blackwoman whom He Created and Designed to be his own helpmate.

Home to Harlem piquantly gives a first-hand account of several different dimensions of Harlem society during that bourgeoning era of Black History and although some intellectual literati of the day condemned McKay’s candor, it made for very enlightening and entertaining reading.

I next read a book of short stories entitled Gingertown, which contained stories of Harlem, Jamaica and even Morocco. The stories of Jamaica did little to interest me, but the tomes of Harlem and Morocco more than made up for the banality of the Jamaica stories.

I opted out of reading Banana Bottom seeing as how it is also set in Jamaica. I also was not interested in reading any poetry next. I wanted to read those after reading the more entertaining novels. Instead, I decided to read his semi-autobiographical A Long Way From Home.

In it, he discusses several dimensions of his life. I am not even half-way through and although I am averse to his relationships with devils, his eyes are wide open to the second-class condition of Black people worldwide.

He was amused by the reviews of his first book of poetry published in the Western world and was particularly opinionated toward the reviews of a publication illustrating the views of the English upper class, who, not surprisingly, held the same views as virtually every other publication, i.e. that Black people are not particularly suited to be poets.

Brother Claude opined that the upper class with their wealth and money, should have been better educated into the knowledge of another Black poet, particularly one who was the source of inspiration for such highly renowned Greco-Roman literary figures as Homer and Virgil, whom all children, including so-called Negro children, are obligated to study in school.

During his travels through the whole of Northern Africa, even the lowliest servant, when informed that Brother Claude was a poet, would effusively exclaim that the most well-renowned poet of the Arabic world was also a Black man and would recite several verses of this prestigious  Blackman’s poetry that he had committed to memory by rote.

“Behold the sport of passion in my noble person!
But I have thanked my forbearance, applauded my resolution.
And the slave has been elevated above his master;
For I have concealed my passion and kept my secret,
I will not leave a word for the railers, and I will not east the hearts of my enemies by the violation of my honor.
I have borne the evils of fortune, till I have discovered its secret meaning…
I have met every peril in my bosom,
And the world can cast no reproach on me for my complexion:
My blackness has not diminished my glory.

My mother is Zebida,
I disavow not her name and I am Antar,
But I am not vainglorious…
Her dark complexion sparkles like a saber in the shades of night
And her shape is like the well-formed spear…”

As a Muslim, poet, Sister Soldier and most noticeably, a Black Woman, I am forever in Brother Claude McKay’s debt for immortalizing the life and legacy of Brother Antar in his own writings. Otherwise, I may have never known of this monumental Blackman whom the devil conveniently overlooks as he does the bulk of the legendary characters in our prodigious and, for the most part, carefully and meticulously hidden, history book.

Here is Brother Claude’s commentary on the above:

“To me these verses of Antar written more than twelve centuries ago are more modern and full of meaning for a Negro than is Homer. Perhaps if black and mulatto children knew more of the story and the poetry of Antar, we might have better Negro poets. But in our Negro schools and colleges we learn a lot of Homer and nothing of Antar.”

The story of Antar begins in 525 A.D. with the son of the King Of Arabia, whose name was Shedad. In search of adventure, Shedad went on a quest to conquer new and distant lands. In due time, he came upon a people whom he and his armies overthrew. Among the captives was a strikingly beautiful Black slave named, Zebiba.

Shedad fell in love with the Beautiful Black Zebiba and relinquished his birthright as the Son of King Zoeher in favor of a life of toil and struggle with the slave, Zebiba and her two sons. Shortly thereafter, Zebiba gave birth to another son by Shedad who was blessed with agility, a grand physique and the strength of ten thousand men.

Even in his youth, the mighty Antar’s feats of strength and bravery made him famous as a warrior as well as a defender of women. He soon was elevated to a position of great esteem but as the son of a slave, was still considered unfit for the affections of the princess, ‘Ablah. One day Antar happened to bear witness to princess ‘Ablah (who also happened to be his cousin, she being the daughter of his father’s brother) getting her hair combed. He had never before seen her in such a vulnerable and exposed state, as she was always veiled. Thus, his heart ignited into a flame of fire of love at her beauty and delicateness which could never be extinguished, regardless of the differences in their social statuses.

When his amorous intentions towards Princess ‘Ablah were made known, The Mighty Antar was demoted back to the position of a slave camel herder and lived in solitude, all the while harboring an unquenchable, burning passion for the beautiful ‘Ablah.

Eventually, King Zoehar’s Kingdom came under attack, but because of their jealousy of the mighty Antar’s strength and great power, the King and the chieftans refused to seek out the help of the mighty warrior and for his part, Antar, enveloped in the solitude of his unrequited love, did not offer.

Conditions worsened and the women were taken hostage including, ‘Ablah. After one particularly fatal battle for King Zoehar, he saw no other choice than to beseech Antar for his help in defeating their adversaries.

Antar acquiesced under the condition that should he be victorious, he would be given ‘Ablah’s hand in matrimony. The King and ‘Ablah’s father, Malik agreed. As to be expected, Antar defeated the opposing army and returned to his land and people a champion. However, Ibla’s father still was not too keen on the idea of his daughter marrying a slave. He double-crossed Antar and added the stipulation that in order for Antar to win his daughter’s hand in matrimony he must offer as a dowry 1,000 camels of  a certain breed that can only be found in faraway lands.

Antar did not balk at the challenge but set off in search of the steeds with love in his heart and determination in his mind. During his travels he happened to be taken hostage, tied up and jailed by a people who were being antagonized by a ferocious lion, the likes of which had never terrorized the land. Antar bid his captors to give him the chance to defeat the lion and they, having no other options granted him the opportunity.

Antar was a skilled lancer and his marker hit its target but the lion was too powerful to be killed instantaneously and continued to attack. Antar uprooted a small tree and proceeded to beat the lion with the tree, until it lay dead at his feet.

The King and the townspeople were so amazed at Antar’s feat of bravery and skill that they did not believe it until they saw the defeated corpse of the lion. As a reward, the King offered Antar precious jewels, treasures and the 1000 camels his uncle, Malik, required to marry his daughter, Antar’s beloved, ‘Ablah.

Soon after Antar and ‘Ablah were married and they lived happily ever after.


The Poem of Antar

Have the poets left in the garment a place for a patch to be patched by me; and did you know the abode of your beloved after reflection?

The vestige of the house, which did not speak, confounded thee, until it spoke by means of signs, like one deaf and dumb.

Verily, I kept my she-camel there long grumbling, with a yearning at the blackened stones, keeping and standing firm in their own places.

It is the abode of a friend, languishing in her glance, submissive in the embrace, pleasant of smile.

Oh house of ‘Ablah situated at Jiwaa, talk with me about those who resided in you. Good morning to you, O house of ‘Ablah, and be safe from ruin.

I halted my she-camel in that place; and it was as though she were a high palace; in order that I might perform the wont of the lingerer.

And ‘Ablah takes up her abode at Jiwaa; while our people went to Hazan, then to Mutathallam.

She took up her abode in the land of my enemies; so it became difficult for me to seek you, O daughter of Mahzam.

I was enamored of her unawares, at a time when I was killing her people, desiring her in marriage; but by your father’s life I swear, this was not the time for desiring.

And verily you have occupied in my heart the place of the honored loved one, so do not think otherwise than this, that you are my beloved.

And how may be the visiting of her; while her people have taken up their residence in the spring at ‘Unaizatain and our people at Ghailam?

I knew that you had intended departing, for, verily, your camels were bridled on a dark night.

Nothing caused me fear of her departure, except that the baggage camels of her people were eating the seeds of the Khimkhim tree throughout the country.

Amongst them were two and forty milk-giving camels, black as the wing-feathers of black crows.

When she captivates you with a mouth possessing sharp, and white teeth, sweet as to its place of kissing, delicious of taste.

As if she sees with the two eyes of a young, grown up gazelle from the deer.

It was as though the musk bag of a merchant in his case of perfumes preceded her teeth toward you from her mouth.

Or as if it is an old wine-skin, from Azri’at, preserved long, such as the kings of Rome preserve;

Or her mouth is as an ungrazed meadow, whose herbage the rain has guaranteed, in which there is but little dung; and which is not marked with the feet of animals.

The first pure showers of every rain-cloud rained upon it, and left every puddle in it bright and round like a dirham;

Sprinkling and pouring; so that the water flows upon it every evening, and is not cut off from it.

The fly enjoyed yet alone, and so it did not cease humming, as is the act of the singing drunkard;

Humming, while he rubs one foreleg against the other, as the striking on the flint of one, bent on the flint, and cut off as to his palm.

She passes her evenings and her mornings on the surface of a well-stuffed couch, while I pass my nights on the back of a bridled black horse.

And my couch is a saddle upon a horse big-boned in the leg, big in his flanks, great of girth.

Would a Shadanian she-camel cause me to arrive at her abode, who is cursed with an udder scanty of milk and cut off?

After traveling all night, she is lashing her sides with her tail, and is strutting proudly, and she breaks up the mounds of earth she passes over with her foot with its sole, treading hard.

As if I in the evening am breaking the mounds of earth by means of an ostrich, very small as to the distance between its two feet, and earless.

The young ostriches flock toward him, as the herds of Yamanian camels flock to a barbarous, unintelligible speaker.

They follow the crest of his head, as though it was a howdah on a large litter, tented for them.

He is small headed, who returns constantly to look after his eggs at Zil-‘Ushairah; he is like a slave, with a long fur cloak and without ears.

She drank of the water of Duhruzain and then turned away, being disgusted, from the pools of stagnant water.

And she swerves away with her right side from the fear of one, whistling in the evening, a big, ugly-headed one;

From the fear of a cat, led at her side, every time she turned toward him, in anger, he met her with both claws and mouth.

She knelt down at the edge of the pool of Rada’, and groaned as though she had knelt on a reed, broken, and emitting a cracking noise.

And the sweat on the back was as though it were oil or thick pitch, with which fire is lighted round the sides of a retort.

Her places of flexure were wetted with it and she lavishly poured of it, on a spreading forelock, short and well-bred.

The length of the journey left her a strong, well-built body, like a high palace, built with cement, and rising high; and feet like the supports of a firmly pitched tent.

And surely I recollected you, even when the lances were drinking my blood, and bright swords of Indian make were dripping with my blood.

I wished to kiss the swords, for verily they shone as bright as the flash of the foretooth of your smiling mouth.

If you lower your veil over yourself in front of me, of what use will it be? for, verily, I am expert in capturing the mailed horseman.

Praise me for the qualities which you know I possess, for, verily, when I am not ill-treated, I am gentle to associate with.

And if I am ill-treated, then, verily, my tyranny is severe, very bitter is the taste of it, as the taste of the colocynth.

And, verily, I have drunk wine after the midday heats have subsided, buying it with the bright stamped coin.

From a glass, yellow with the lines of the glass-cutter on it, which was accompanied by a white-stoppered bottle on the left-hand side.

And when I have drunk, verily, I am the squanderer of my property, and my honor is great, and is not sullied.

And when I have become sober, I do not diminish in my generosity, and as you know, so are my qualities and my liberality.

And many a husband of a beautiful woman, I have left prostrate on the ground, with his shoulders hissing like the side of the mouth of one with a split lip.

My two hands preceded him with a hasty blow, striking him before he could strike me; and with the drops of blood from a penetrating stroke, red like the color of Brazil wood.

Why did you not ask the horsemen, O daughter Malik! if you were ignorant, concerning what you did not know about my condition,

At a time when I never ceased to be in the saddle of a long striding, wounded, sturdy horse, against whom the warriors came in succession.

At one time he is detached to charge the enemy with the lance, and at another he joins the large host with their bows tightly strung.

He who was present in the battle will inform you that verily I rush into battle, but I abstain at the time of taking the booty.

I see spoils, which, if I want I would win; but my bashfulness and my magnanimity hold me back from them.

And many a fully armed one, whom the warriors shunned fighting with, neither a hastener in flight, nor a surrenderer;

My hands were generous to him by a quick point with a straightened spear, strong in the joints;

Inflicting a wound wide of its two sides, the sound of the flow of blood from it leads at night the prowling wolves, burning with hunger.

I rent his vesture with a rigid spear, for the noble one is not forbidden to the spears.

Then I left him a prey for the wild beasts, who seize him, and gnaw the beauty of his fingers and wrist.

And many a long, closely woven coat of mail, I have split open the links of it, with a sword, off one defending his rights, and renowned for bravery.

Whose hands are ready with gambling arrows when it is winter, a tearer-down of the signs of the wine-sellers, and one reproached for his extravagance.

When he saw that I had descended from my horse and was intending killing him, he showed his teeth, but without smiling.

My meeting with him was when the day spread out, and he was as if his fingers and his head were dyed with indigo.

I pierced him with my spear, and then I set upon him with my Indian sword pure of steel, and keen.

A warrior, so stately in size as if his clothes were on a high tree: soft leather shoes are worn by him and he is not twinned.

Oh, how wonderful is the beauty of the doe of the hunt, to whom is she lawful? To me she is unlawful; would to God that she was not unlawful.

So, I sent my female slave, and said to her, “Go, find out news of her and inform me.”

She said, “I saw carelessness on the part of the enemies, and that the doe is possible to him who is shooting.”

And it was as though she looked toward me with the neck of a doe, a fawn of the gazelles, pure and with a white upper lip.

I am informed that ‘Amru is unthankful for my kindness while ingratitude is a cause of evil to the soul of the giver.

And, verily, I remember the advice of my uncle, in the battle, when the two lips quiver from off the white teeth of the mouth,

In the thick of the battle, of which the warriors do not complain of the rigors, except with an unintelligible noise.

When they (i.e., my people) defended themselves with me against the spears of the enemy, I did not refrain from them (i.e., the spears) through cowardice, but the place of my advance had become too strait.

When I heard the cry of Murrah rise, and saw the two sons of Rabi’ah in the thick dust,

While the tribe of Muhallam were struggling under their banners, and death was under the banners of the tribe of Mulhallam {sic.},

I made sure that at the time of their encounter there would be a blow, which would make the heads fly from the bodies, as the bird flies from off her young ones sitting close.

When I saw the people, while their mass advanced, excite one another to fight, I turned against them without being reproached for any want of bravery.

They were calling ‘Antarah, while the spears were as though they were well-ropes in the breast of Adham.

They were calling ‘Antarah, while the swords were as though they were the flash of lightnings in a dark cloud.

They were calling ‘Antarah, while the arrows were flying, as though they were a flight of locusts, hovering above watering places.

They were calling ” O ‘Antarah,” while the coats of mail shone with close rings, shining as though they were the eyeballs of frogs floating in a wavy pond.

I did not cease charging them, (the enemy,) with the prominent part of his (horse’s) throat and breast, until he became covered with a shirt of blood.

Then he turned on account of the falling of the spears on his breast, and complained to me with tears and whinnyings.

If he had known what conversation was, he would have complained with words, and verily he would have, had he known speech, talked with me.

And verily the speech of the horsemen, “Woe to you, ‘Antarah, advance, and attack the enemy,” cured my soul and removed its sickness.

While the horses sternly frowning were charging over the soft soil, being partly the long-bodied mares, and partly the long-bodied, well-bred horses.

My riding-camels are tractable, they go wherever I wish; while my intellect is my helper, and I drive it forward with a firm order.

Verily, it lay beyond my power that I should visit you; so, know what you have known, and some of what you have not known.

The lances of the tribe of Bagheez intercepted you and the perpetrators of the war set aside those who did not perpetrate it.

And, verily, I turned the horse for the attack, while his neck was bleeding, until the horses began to shun me.

And verily I feared that I should die, while there has not yet been a turn for war against the two sons of Zamzam;

The two revilers of my honor, while I did not revile them, and the threateners of my blood, when I did not see them.

There is no wonder should they do so, for I left their father a prey for the wild beasts and every large old vulture.


My sin against Ablah is beyond remission;
Became obvious when the morning of life
Lent streaks of its white shafts
To my hair, turning it gray.
My own Ablah pierced my heart with arrows,
Shot from her white-corona, black-iris eyes;
Accurately hitting the mark!
How amazing! Arrows projected from eyelids
With no string or bow, ever scoring, never missing
I have kept faith with my fellow tribesmen
Protected their honor
Often curbing my passion
For their playful and modest girls.
Such mild and gentle beauties!
Make tender branches envious
Of their graceful swaying, elegant swinging.

O dear Abode (of the Beloved),
Should the clouds withhold their rain from you,
Let my tears then pour down on you instead
O how pleasant the times I spent
In the land of Sharibba,
Enjoying myself in the company of
My friends and delicate women.
When the twig of my youth was soft and pliable,
How I amused myself,
Admiring its blossoms and streaks.
Everyday, the breeze of Sharibba
Comes to me laden with the sweet scent
Of fragrant flowers unfolding at dawn

Each (maiden), like a straight leafy branch;
A lover can only feast his eyes
On such beauty, (but not touch.)
I am ever anxious to see Ablah;
That is why I so often stop by her camp,
Water my camels then depart.
After being close to her, I can never content myself
With only a word about her,
Now she is far away

She will always remain my dearly beloved,
Even if she should betray my trust, forsake me.
My love for her will remain unchanged, undiminished,
Nor will I ever stop thinking of her.
Secretly and openly,
I bemoan my separation from her;
With such intensity of feeling
That softens the rocks
O Abla stay safe and be happy in the Sand Valley
Away from enemies; fear not even if frightened.
Know that your dwelling is protected
By lions with mighty swords
That smash iron helmets, slice thick armors.

How great are my folks Bani Abs!
They have reached the pinnacle of honor;
Attained the height of prestige
When they saw my horse
Charge unrestrained, beneath thick clouds of dust
They thought it was bringing me nigh to doom.
Then they quickly trod on my heels,
Knowing that death is an unavoidable arrow, deflecting never.
I plunged headlong into the dust-covered battleground,
Atop my pitch black charger;
Upon return, his body was blood covered,
With human remains to its skin attached

I endeavored to be fair to my opponent,
However, he wronged me,
Resorting to mean, devious means.
Finally, my sword dealt him a fair blow.
Should others taunt me
On account of the blackness of my skin,
Let them keep in mind
That precious pearls are in shells contained

Antarah (Antar) ibn Shebab

O, dwellings tell me; where your inhabitants are going?


And to where their cameleers proceed along or halting?
Yesterday thy place showed sociable deer played joyfully.
But today the craws caw instead of them gloomily.
O, Ablah’s dwelling where Ablah’s tribe is camped.
After the camels had conveyed them far away and vanished.
All pigeons cooed after the people had departed.
As well as the Ben-oil tree due to its misery had cried.
The essence of each homeland is the souls of its inhabitants.
If they went away, the bodies will cry them in variance.
O, fellow ask Ablah’s verdured locations on the wilderness display.
Be witty if you ask! Does the place have any tongue to reply?
O, Ablah the reunion had lasted several delicious nights
Followed by the darken days which overcast the shining lights.
If only the dwelling have the choice to answer!
Where are people settled later?
O, bird that slept its night crying about its fellows was ‘grieved
‘Did not know what the matter is! Only it is bewildered.
If you were as me, no longer would you pride about your colourful shape.
Yet the branches have not shaken to you otherwise you cannot leap.
Hardly you can find lover whose heart is peaceful.
Since he suffers the ardent love, his heart is sorrowful.
O, bird borrows me your wing and I give you my tears instead.
Even if I die, the tears still shed without stopping indeed.
Therefore, I could fly to Abla asking about her place
If the flying were possible, I would prove this case

Antar tunisia

Behind their veils glimmer apparently
As if the sharp blade of the sword stabbing my heart fiercely
If they are unsheathed, the brave man becomes coward readily
And his eyeholes turn ulcerated replete with tears shed heavily
I wish God would quench my uncle the cup of death bitterly
His hands turn palsied after his fingers were amputated totally
As he sends me to the death, the escape is hardly
He promises me in what I am desirous of eventually
Abla has said farewell to me when I intended the departure
She was some sure that she would not see me on future?
She wept and said! How do you do if you are naked?
What will happen then if you are on the wide desert settled
By your honour, I did not try any comfort is accessible
My passion toward thee love on all my life is unchangeable
You cousin be sure of my sincere cordiality
You lover be soft on pleasure without anxiety
I said to her; hereinafter should I travel either alive or dead
Even if the sharp swords impede my way, I shall go ahead
We were born for the sake of this love formerly
Therefore, I think this love will not die since it is eternally
O, you the optimistic place, really! I come back alive
Then I see on its both sides the annual flowers revive
I wish my eye saw both hillocks and the adjacent lively location
However, it can see the rest of people in that verdured situation
Then we live along with on our favourable places do not separated
In those certain verdured sides, we would be happy and delighted
By God, thou the breeze with the oily ben odor are scented
Reach Abla and inform her about the places had I reached
O, lightning, inform her on this morn my greeting
As well as any place had I rest there and my dwelling
O, chanting birds if I die mourn nearby my tomb right after
Lift my soul with thy wings to be in heaven settled forever
Weep and mourn about who dies aggrievedly without reason
Do not gain only the lover’s torture and the pain of separation
And you horses cry about your horseman abundantly.
This who throws oneself into battlefield’s dusts bravely
You should be acquainted ‘soul’ to the humiliation suffering thy passion
You may be tied with heavy bonds of a familiar slavery fashion
Never will I cry if my fate has come manifestly
May be I mislead then shed tears spontaneously
It is not pride that I state my bravery or severity on each assembly
While my fame everywhere is celebrated widely
By platonic love, do not blame me and stop thy talkativeness
Blame never has benefit or any dependable seriousness?
How can I endure the unbearable patience of this lover.
Since the passionate love enkindles my ribs moreover