مهرجان الشعر في اليوبيل ٣_a ، من كتاب اليوبيل الذهبي لثانوية جول جمال الرسمية

Jubilee Poetry Festival

The poem of the poet, Professor Muhammad al-Hariri

I wore Hadi over fifty gray hairs
And she leaned on the crutch of glories
She focused on her glasses
to see its parallels of dimensions
She wiped her forehead for days
And she sighed behind the Ghadi youth
Convoys passed under the arc of her tender
Loaded with guides
What is between the first and the last Ha Zaha
A face overlooking a fertile shelf, Fawad
Those seats of highness are bases
Every eagle has grown from it
Its beak is a pen and its wing feathers
As for the paper of the book Al-Hadi
The same as its success and its failure
My two brothers, Howe and Wadad, loved them
I bent over its ribs and loins
With her exhale and tenderness
The professor's affections are fulfilled
The line of darkness with its stoked letter
Days I was alone on the coast
I saw him cheating slaves
Your soul kindled an ember he could not
A sparkle opponent obscured it with ashes

The disdainful disciples revealed their chests
For the fire between a mourner and a caller
They wrote on your walls, free age
Freedom flooded my walls
And the Lord of glory to the adults named it
The shoulder of the young and the shoulders of the children

Tighten your ribs around Jamal's mouth
Your fight is a tooth "in Rahi al-Abad."
Your stones are drawn on our stares
And extracted from the livers Raaf
And leave your sublime dialogue tomorrow
Kohla damned epic and executioner
Tishreen is out of your certificate
I wrote with wound ink, not with ink
Naked Adam from shabby clothes
To knit you from Shams Hajj Abrady
Individuals of this era is the light of knowledge
No light fabrics on the bodies
Hey coastal, form your poem Ghinwa
And he chanted it defiantly chanting


Bless you sword virtues lightning
On the waist of the servants stick sheaths
How categorically caught the aggression
And it brightened, so the eyes turned off again
You called your brother in
Jaffa shares the exhale of Haddad
Take it easy, your brother will not be lost in me
Twisting sugar Rajif glories
It must contain cream
The waves of the sea are tumbling overhead
And I set up my cup at that time
In Latakia, the wine of the feasts

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