The Swahili Poet's Muse of Pate | مُلْهِمَةُ الشّاعِرِ السَّواحِلِيِّ في باتي
"In the ancient sultanate of Pate, a renowned poet finds his greatest inspiration in the forbidden arms of a noble's voluptuous wife."
مُلْهِمَةُ الشّاعِرِ السَّواحِلِيِّ في باتي
The Swahili Poet's Muse of Pate
الفصل الأول: جَزيرَةُ باتي
Chapter One: The Island of Pate
في سَلْطَنَةِ باتي العَريقَةِ، عاشَ الشّاعِرُ عُمَرُ بنُ أَحْمَدَ، أَشْهَرُ ناظِمي القَصائِدِ السَّواحِلِيَّةِ. كانَ في الخامِسَةِ وَالثَّلاثينَ مِنْ عُمْرِهِ، يَكْتُبُ قَصائِدَ الحُبِّ وَالشَّوْقِ لِلنُّبَلاءِ وَالتُّجّارِ.
In the ancient Sultanate of Pate lived the poet Omar ibn Ahmad, the most famous composer of Swahili verses. He was thirty-five years of age, writing poems of love and longing for nobles and merchants.
لكِنَّ قَريحَتَهُ جَفَّتْ مُنْذُ أَشْهُرٍ. لَمْ يَكْتُبْ بَيْتاً واحِداً. حَتّى جاءَتْ هِيَ.
But his inspiration had dried up for months. He had not written a single verse. Until she came.
الفصل الثاني: زَوْجَةُ النَّبيل
Chapter Two: The Noble's Wife
دَخَلَتْ بَيْتَهُ امْرَأَةٌ مُحَجَّبَةٌ. خَلَعَتْ حِجابَها وَقالَتْ: "أَنا نورَةُ، زَوْجَةُ الوَزيرِ حَمَدٍ."
A veiled woman entered his house. She removed her veil and said: "I am Nura, wife of Vizier Hamad."
كانَتْ في الثّامِنَةِ وَالثَّلاثينَ مِنْ عُمْرِها، امْرَأَةً سَواحِلِيَّةً ذاتَ جَمالٍ آسِرٍ. بَشَرَتُها سَمْراءُ ذَهَبِيَّةٌ، وَعَيْناها سَوْداوانِ عَميقَتانِ. جَسَدُها مُمْتَلِئٌ فاخِرٌ، بِثَدْيَيْنِ كَبيرَيْنِ وَخَصْرٍ مُنْحَنٍ وَوِرْكَيْنِ دائِرِيَّتَيْنِ.
She was thirty-eight years of age, a Swahili woman of captivating beauty. Her skin was golden brown, and her eyes were deep black. Her body was luxuriously full, with large breasts, a curved waist, and round hips.
"ماذا تُريدينَ مِنّي، يا سَيِّدَتي؟"
"What do you want from me, my lady?"
"أُريدُكَ أَنْ تَكْتُبَ لي قَصيدَةً."
"I want you to write me a poem."
الفصل الثالث: الإلْهام
Chapter Three: The Inspiration
"لَمْ أَكْتُبْ مُنْذُ أَشْهُرٍ،" اعْتَرَفَ عُمَرُ.
"I have not written for months," Omar confessed.
"لِأَنَّكَ لَمْ تَرَ جَمالاً حَقيقِيّاً." بَدَأَتْ تَخْلَعُ ثِيابَها. "دَعْني أُلْهِمُكَ."
"Because you have not seen true beauty." She began to remove her clothes. "Let me inspire you."
ثَوْبٌ بَعْدَ ثَوْبٍ، حَتّى وَقَفَتْ أَمامَهُ عارِيَةً. جَسَدُها السَّواحِلِيُّ المُمْتَلِئُ يَتَوَهَّجُ في ضَوْءِ القَناديلِ. ثَدْياها الكَبيرانِ بِحَلَماتٍ داكِنَةٍ. بَطْنُها مُنْحَنِيَةٌ ناعِمَةٌ. فَخِذاها مُمْتَلِئَتانِ.
Garment after garment, until she stood before him naked. Her full Swahili body glowed in the lamplight. Her large breasts with dark nipples. Her belly curved and soft. Her thighs full.
"الآنَ، هَلْ تَشْعُرُ بِالإلْهامِ؟"
"Now, do you feel inspired?"
الفصل الرابع: القَصيدَة
Chapter Four: The Poem
"نَعَمْ،" هَمَسَ عُمَرُ بِصَوْتٍ مَخْنوقٍ. "لكِنّي أَحْتاجُ أَنْ أَلْمِسَ إلْهامي لِأَكْتُبَ عَنْهُ."
"Yes," whispered Omar in a choked voice. "But I need to touch my inspiration to write about it."
"اُلْمِسْ."
"Touch."
اقْتَرَبَ مِنْها وَمَرَّرَ أَصابِعَهُ عَلى كَتِفِها. "جِلْدُكِ كَالحَريرِ."
He approached her and passed his fingers over her shoulder. "Your skin is like silk."
نَزَلَ إلى ثَدْيَيْها. "وَهَذانِ كَالتِّلالِ المُقَدَّسَةِ."
He descended to her breasts. "And these are like sacred hills."
نَزَلَ إلى بَطْنِها. "وَهَذِهِ كَسَهْلٍ خَصيبٍ."
He descended to her belly. "And this is like a fertile plain."
نَزَلَ إلى ما بَيْنَ فَخِذَيْها. "وَهَذِهِ..."
He descended to between her thighs. "And this..."
"ماذا عَنْها؟"
"What about it?"
"هَذِهِ هِيَ القَصيدَةُ نَفْسُها."
"This is the poem itself."
الفصل الخامس: التَّلاوَة
Chapter Five: The Recitation
جَثا أَمامَها وَدَفَنَ وَجْهَهُ بَيْنَ فَخِذَيْها. لِسانُهُ يَكْتُبُ أَبْياتاً عَلى زَهْرَتِها.
He knelt before her and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue wrote verses on her flower.
"يا اللهِ!" صَرَخَتْ. "ما هَذا الشِّعْرُ؟"
"My God!" she screamed. "What poetry is this?"
"شِعْرٌ لا يُكْتَبُ بِالحِبْرِ،" هَمَسَ وَاسْتَمَرَّ يَلْعَقُها.
"Poetry that is not written with ink," he whispered and continued licking her.
لَعِقَها حَتّى وَصَلَتْ إلى ذُرْوَتِها الأولى. صَرَخَتْ وَأَمْسَكَتْ بِرَأْسِهِ.
He licked her until she reached her first climax. She screamed and grabbed his head.
"الآنَ أُريدُ قَصيدَةً أَطْوَلَ."
"Now I want a longer poem."
الفصل السادس: المَلْحَمَة
Chapter Six: The Epic
خَلَعَ ثِيابَهُ وَحَمَلَها إلى سَريرِهِ. وَضَعَها بِرِفْقٍ وَصَعِدَ فَوْقَها.
He removed his clothes and carried her to his bed. He laid her gently and climbed above her.
"سَأَكْتُبُ لَكِ مَلْحَمَةً،" قالَ وَدَخَلَها.
"I will write you an epic," he said and entered her.
صَرَخَتْ مِنَ العُمْقِ. جَسَدُها المُمْتَلِئُ يَلْتَفُّ حَوْلَهُ.
She screamed from the depth. Her full body wrapped around him.
"اُكْتُبْني!" لَهَثَتْ. "اُكْتُبْني بِجَسَدِكَ!"
"Write me!" she panted. "Write me with your body!"
الفصل السابع: الأَبْيات
Chapter Seven: The Verses
تَحَرَّكَ داخِلَها بِإيقاعِ الشِّعْرِ. بَيْتٌ بَعْدَ بَيْتٍ. ثَدْياها الكَبيرانِ يَرْتَجِفانِ كَالقَوافي.
He moved inside her with the rhythm of poetry. Verse after verse. Her large breasts trembled like rhymes.
"أَسْرَعُ!" طَلَبَتْ. "اِجْعَلِ الإيقاعَ أَسْرَعَ!"
"Faster!" she demanded. "Make the rhythm faster!"
زادَ سُرْعَتَهُ. صَوْتُ ارْتِطامِ جَسَدَيْهِما كَطَبْلَةِ المُنْشِدينَ.
He increased his speed. The sound of their bodies colliding like the drum of chanters.
قَلَبَها عَلى بَطْنِها وَدَخَلَها مِنَ الخَلْفِ. مُؤَخِّرَتُها الكَبيرَةُ تَرْتَجِفُ.
He flipped her onto her belly and entered her from behind. Her large backside trembled.
الفصل الثامن: الخاتِمَة
Chapter Eight: The Finale
وَصَلا إلى الذُّرْوَةِ مَعاً. صَرَخا كَمُنْشِدَيْنِ في لَيْلَةِ مَوْلِدٍ.
They reached the climax together. They screamed like chanters on a birth night.
أَفْرَغَ داخِلَها كُلَّ ما فيهِ مِنْ إلْهامٍ. سَقَطا مَعاً عَلى السَّريرِ.
He emptied inside her all the inspiration within him. They fell together on the bed.
"هَلْ سَتَكْتُبُ لي القَصيدَةَ الآنَ؟" سَأَلَتْهُ.
"Will you write me the poem now?" she asked him.
"لَقَدْ كَتَبْتُها عَلى جَسَدِكِ."
"I have written it on your body."
الخاتِمَة
Epilogue
اسْتَمَرَّتْ زِياراتُ نورَةَ أَشْهُراً. وَعادَتْ قَريحَةُ عُمَرَ أَقْوى مِنْ قَبْلُ. كَتَبَ أَجْمَلَ قَصائِدِهِ، وَكُلُّها عَنْها.
Nura's visits continued for months. And Omar's inspiration returned stronger than before. He wrote his most beautiful poems, all of them about her.
وَيُقالُ إنَّ قَصائِدَهُ لا تَزالُ تُقْرَأُ في باتي، لكِنَّ أَحَداً لا يَعْلَمُ أَنَّ المُلْهِمَةَ كانَتْ زَوْجَةَ الوَزيرِ.
It is said that his poems are still read in Pate, but no one knows that the muse was the vizier's wife.
انْتَهَتِ القِصَّة | The End