Poem of Liongo

I begin a poem in stanzas of five lines passing quickly, That I may make it clear, and it may give light like a lamp. In order to follow Liongo, the lion of cities. Oh! much, much, I begin with many, as well as go forward and finish, the child of good things.

Then if you see a wrong-doer, a man your equal, Turn your heart and put on vigour and bitterness, Be like a leopard, a she leopard, among the flock. Child, how see you your goat, in the pathway; its horns held and a milker milking it?

My brother, oh my friend, let us say words to profit you. The gentleman must take away shameful things, I fear dying for you, such things are not before the man of position. My child, how see you his vileness standing; without his consenting to die, and regrets follow after.

I swear by the Gospel and the Psalms a firm oath, I turn not my back if evil is before me, And his heart faces it and seeks evil wherever it is. He who strives for his rank, having rank, striving against wrong and wrong, till his soul meets its fate.

I make myself a slave to my equals to get honour. Nor is there anything I do not obey them in, But I refuse a vile person and an evil speaker. I melt like wax when I am held, I melt exceedingly; I am bad like war when I hear evil speaking.

I go not into war if I have not something which makes me beat my breast, But what is praised when it has evil praise, I make great war to make it insignificant. I am bold, and love the acceptance of death; for fear of disgrace and of the enemy's speaking of me.

If I see war, though I am sick, I find health, I rejoice as a bridegroom when he goes to his bride, I fix my heart before God without turning, I am a young lion who loves the acceptance of death; for fear of disgrace and of the enemies seeing me backward.

I swear by God, and God is indeed an oath, I love any one so long as he loves me, But when my brother puts upon me a little disgrace. I am a young falcon, I am not seen when I pounce; the evil bird that preys upon the flock.

By Allah, though I am bound, my greatness is not false. When I strive for my rank, being black, I am white, When I am before the face of the enemy he must shrivel up. I am like a young vulture, who shares with the wild beasts, and they that eat grass in the valleys and hills.

Would that a creature when circumstances stop him, There in the desert when he sees his enemies, He breaks their crowns and their collar-bones. Would that I were an eagle flying in the air, eating small animals, even to the lion, chief of the beasts.

I would have cut them to pieced with sword and knife, Sending a sharp falchion up and down. Blowing like a rock, where there is no place for anger and bitterness to enter. But both my feet are in fetters, and on my neck I wear a chain of iron.

I should have called the Koran as a witness to my words, But God the bountiful has refused to be made a song; "He has not been a singer of songs in any way." The boiling of the water roars in the deep sea; you cannot stand where the wave dashes over Ungama.

Leave plans and intentions which you intend, Hold not your hand to do to him as he does to you, To pay a man the debt in measure as he gave in advance to you. Let not your heart hesitate to surprise your victim; and if you kill not your enemies they will eat flesh.

I fear not to deal with him who does me malicious evil, As he declares to us in His own book who is the Highest, "O thou who doest, do as thou hast been done by." Then when you perceive the fire of war roaring, la Allah! it is I who light as well as extinguish it.

Who turns back my heart when it has taken strength? When I strive for my rank I recognize no one, I am as though those people were like outcasts. I draw myself together and cast myself among the bad; and I slaughter a slaughtering and satiate my heart.

O my friend, let us say as we think, How can a creature like yourself harm you? Strive for your right and put yourself among injuries. Fear not their arrow nor their shining spears; there are many who strike down, and turn and come back again.

Who that fears has been saved by his fear? Or what bold man's life has been shortened? Friend, give up fear, and go not with the fearful. How many that feared in war have fallen; and those that stood firm have got through safely.

Woe to the coward who fears and considers not, Death is not a thing of choice but of necessity to the finite, Woe to the coward, he who fears death gets no honour. He meets with destitution and confusion and vileness by fearing for his life, and his end comes to remove him.

If I see a disgraceful thing, the world disgusts me. My heart is nauseated till it is dark within, And outside the eyelid the tear of vileness drops. The lion cries with a cry, blowing out a great cry which brings pity home to a man.

What makes the lion cry is every vileness and iniquity, The lion cries from remembering, and I tell you, Think him not a lion with four feet that tracks a scent The great male lion strives for his object and his rank; he strives for his object till his eyes are closed.

I am valiant, a lion with claws, taker away of disgrace, Breaker of prisons and forts by stratagems, I beat my breast and cast myself among evils. I fear not their bows and spears that shine; many are they who are cast down, and who flee and go backward.

I am a lion that is of use to gain an object or a rank, I cast myself into the midst and humble those who praise themselves; Fear not your enemies when they are gathered, because of their numbers. I fear not their thousands, I alone it is who am myself a thousand by being brave.

I am the great one that strive for my honour, I accept not the vileness of a creature that had a maker, I draw my dagger where a thousand are and rush among them, I make my breast my shield; where they are pressed together I divide them, without fearing the thorns or prickles to prick me.

Friend, leave fear, and go not with the fearful, And leave your life to God who saves, Fear not creaturely things, nor dreads which affright you. Dying is of God, and the snare that takes him, not of the men of this world, though a thousand arrows should pierce you.

They who strive for their rank, their hearts are right, they fear no curses, They take the bodies and feed their falchions and swords, Who take away vileness, where reproach is, and set it aside. They are not lions with tails, and hair growing on the neck and back; but lions are heroes, who have nothing to do with skins and beasts.

It is done, I have finished the stanzas of five lines which I composed Of Liongo the chief, I have finished completing them. He who sees a bad expression if he takes it away is not to blame; He will get a reward, which the bountiful Lord will pay him when the days are accomplished for repaying bad and good.

And the author, I will tell you his name, It is Abdallah Muyuweni, remember him, Son of Ali, son of Nasr the glorious, A branch of Mecca, sprouting from Farimu [in Hathramaut], a descendant of Muthar, Mutalib, and Hashim.

Listen to me, that I may tell you his tribe, It was of Sheikh Ali our lord Abubakr, Son of Salim, a choice rank, Working many wonders, his signs are manifest; in his time was no likeness to be found like his.