Thursday, March 10, 2011
This week I’m “getting more gay” by reading some more Sufi mystic poetry. The Sufis believed that the homosexual’s ability to give up all “respectability” in the name of love, mirrors the necessity of abandoning all restrictions and social beliefs in the search for God.
Totally hot! So, I have been reading some Abu Nuwas and wanted to share.
His full name is Abu Nuwas al-Hasan ibn Hani al-Hakami but he was also known as the “Father of Curls,” because of his long flowing hair. He has been called the greatest Arab poet of his time, and some claim he is the greatest Arab poet of all time. You can also check out tales of Abu’s debauchery in “The Thousand and One Arabian Nights”.
Abu's work is so good and juicy that I had to include a bunch of his hot poems.
I hope you enjoy them.
Lay in supplies,
O tribe that loves boys,
Of a pleasure that will not be found
For all its vaunted joys.
IN THE BATH-HOUSE
In the bath-house, the mysteries hidden by trousers
Are revealed to you.
All becomes radiantly manifest.
Feast your eyes without restraint!
You see handsome buttocks, shapely trim torsos,
You hear the guys whispering pious formulas
to one another
("God is Great!" "Praise be to God!")
Ah, what a palace of pleasure is the bath-house!
Even when the towel-bearers come in
And spoil the fun a bit.
THE TRUE JIHAD
The belly of the virgin
And the rear of the youth,
A single lance pierces them both.
This is the true jihad,
And come the Last Judgment
You will be rewarded.
LOVE IN BLOOM
I die of love for him, perfect in every way,
Lost in the strains of wafting music.
My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body
And I do not wonder at his beauty.
His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,
And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek
I die of love for you, but keep this secret:
The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.
How much time did your creation take, O angel?
So what! All I want is to sing your praises.
Tu’atibu-ni ’ala Surbi Stibahi
A gentle fawn passed around the cup
Delicate of waist and slim of flank,
“Will you be on your way, come morn?” he chirped.
“How can we bear to leave?” came the reply.
He glided among us and made us drunk,
And we slept, but as the cock was about to crow
I made for him, my garments trailing, my ram ready for butting.
When I plunged my spear into him
He awoke as a wounded man awakes from his wounds.
“You were an easy kill,” said I, “so let’s have no reproaches.”
“You win, so take what you will, but give me fair reward.”
So after I had placed my saddle bag upon him he burst into song,
“Are you not the most generous rider ever, of all Allah’s creatures?”