Songs
نهج البردة Nahj al-Burda (The Way of the Mantle)
- Year
- 1946
- Lyricist
- Ahmed Shawqi
- Composer
- Riad Al-Sunbati
- Maqam
- Rahat al-Arwah
Lines marked with a gold ornament carry a note — select one to read it.
Lyrics (Arabic)
ريمٌ عَلى القاعِ بَينَ البانِ وَالعَلَمِ — أَحَلَّ سَفكَ دَمي في الأَشهُرِ الحُرُمِ
لَمّا رَنا حَدَّثَتني النَفسُ قائِلَةً — يا وَيحَ جَنبِكَ بِالسَهمِ المُصيبِ رُمي
جَحَدتُها وَكَتَمتُ السَهمَ في كَبِدي — جُرحُ الأَحِبَّةِ عِندي غَيرُ ذي أَلَمِ
يا لائِمي في هَواهُ وَالهَوى قَدَرٌ — لَو شَفَّكَ الوَجدُ لَم تَعذِل وَلَم تَلُمِ
لَقَد أَنَلتُكَ أُذنًا غَيرَ واعِيَةٍ — وَرُبَّ مُنتَصِتٍ وَالقَلبُ في صَمَمِ
يا ناعِسَ الطَرفِ لا ذُقتَ الهَوى أَبَدًا — أَسهَرتَ مُضناكَ في حِفظِ الهَوى فَنَمِ
يا نَفسُ دُنياكِ تُخفي كُلَّ مُبكِيَةٍ — وَإِن بَدا لَكِ مِنها حُسنُ مُبتَسَمِ
صَلاحُ أَمرِكَ لِلأَخلاقِ مَرجِعُهُ — فَقَوِّمِ النَفسَ بِالأَخلاقِ تَستَقِمِ
وَالنَفسُ مِن خَيرِها في خَيرِ عافِيَةٍ — وَالنَفسُ مِن شَرِّها في مَرتَعٍ وَخِمِ
إِن جَلَّ ذَنبي عَنِ الغُفرانِ لي أَمَلٌ — في اللَهِ يَجعَلُني في خَيرِ مُعتَصِمِ
أُلقي رَجائي إِذا عَزَّ المُجيرُ عَلى — مُفَرِّجِ الكَربِ في الدارَينِ وَالغَمَمِ
إِذا خَفَضتُ جَناحَ الذُلِّ أَسأَلُهُ — عِزَّ الشَفاعَةِ لَم أَسأَل سِوى أُمَمِ
وَإِن تَقَدَّمَ ذو تَقوى بِصالِحَةٍ — قَدَّمتُ بَينَ يَدَيهِ عَبرَةَ النَدَمِ
لَزِمتُ بابَ أَميرِ الأَنبِياءِ وَمَن — يُمسِك بِمِفتاحِ بابِ اللَهِ يَغتَنِمِ
مُحَمَّدٌ صَفوَةُ الباري وَرَحمَتُهُ — وَبُغيَةُ اللَهِ مِن خَلقٍ وَمِن نَسَمِ
وَنودِيَ اِقرَأ تَعالى اللَهُ قائِلُها — لَم تَتَّصِل قَبلَ مَن قيلَت لَهُ بِفَمِ
هُناكَ أَذَّنَ لِلرَحمَنِ فَاِمتَلَأَت — أَسماعُ مَكَّةَ مِن قُدسِيَّةِ النَغَمِ
سَرَت بَشائِرُ بِالهادي وَمَولِدِهِ — في الشَرقِ وَالغَربِ مَسرى النورِ في الظُلَمِ
أَتَيتَ وَالناسُ فَوضى لا تَمُرُّ بِهِم — إِلّا عَلى صَنَمٍ قَد هامَ في صَنَمِ
أَسرى بِكَ اللَهُ لَيلًا إِذ مَلائِكُهُ — وَالرُسلُ في المَسجِدِ الأَقصى عَلى قَدَمِ
لَمّا خَطَرتَ بِهِ اِلتَفّوا بِسَيِّدِهِم — كَالشُهبِ بِالبَدرِ أَو كَالجُندِ بِالعَلَمِ
صَلّى وَراءَكَ مِنهُم كُلُّ ذي خَطَرٍ — وَمَن يَفُز بِحَبيبِ اللَهِ يَأتَمِمِ
جُبتَ السَماواتِ أَو ما فَوقَهُنَّ بِهِم — عَلى مُنَوَّرَةٍ دُرِّيَّةِ اللُجُمِ
مَشيئَةُ الخالِقِ الباري وَصَنعَتُهُ — وَقُدرَةُ اللَهِ فَوقَ الشَكِّ وَالتُهَمِ
حَتّى بَلَغتَ سَماءً لا يُطارُ لَها — عَلى جَناحٍ وَلا يُسعى عَلى قَدَمِ
وَقيلَ كُلُّ نَبِيٍّ عِندَ رُتبَتِهِ — وَيا مُحَمَّدُ هَذا العَرشُ فَاِستَلِمِ
يا رَبِّ هَبَّت شُعوبٌ مِن مَنِيَّتِها — وَاِستَيقَظَت أُمَمٌ مِن رَقدَةِ العَدَمِ
رَأى قَضاؤُكَ فينا رَأيَ حِكمَتِهِ — أَكرِم بِوَجهِكَ مِن قاضٍ وَمُنتَقِمِ
فَاِلطُف لِأَجلِ رَسولِ العالَمينَ بِنا — وَلا تَزِد قَومَهُ خَسفًا وَلا تُسِمِ
يا رَبِّ أَحسَنتَ بَدءَ المُسلِمينَ بِهِ — فَتَمِّمِ الفَضلَ وَاِمنَح حُسنَ مُختَتَمِ
Transliteration
Rimun 'ala l-qa'i bayna l-bani wa-l-'alami — ahalla safka dami fi l-ash-huri l-hurumi
Lamma rana haddathatni n-nafsu qa'ilatan — ya wayha janbika bi-s-sahmi l-musibi rumi
Jahadtuha wa-katamtu s-sahma fi kabidi — jurhu l-ahibbati 'indi ghayru dhi alami
Ya la'imi fi hawahu wa-l-hawa qadarun — law shaffaka l-wajdu lam ta'dhil wa-lam talumi
Laqad analtuka udhnan ghayra wa'iyatin — wa-rubba muntasitin wa-l-qalbu fi samami
Ya na'isa t-tarfi la dhuqta l-hawa abadan — as-harta mudnaka fi hifzi l-hawa fa-nami
Ya nafsu dunyaki tukhfi kulla mubkiyatin — wa-in bada laki minha husnu mubtasami
Salahu amrika li-l-akhlaqi marji'uhu — fa-qawwimi n-nafsa bi-l-akhlaqi tastaqimi
Wa-n-nafsu min khayriha fi khayri 'afiyatin — wa-n-nafsu min sharriha fi marta'in wakhimi
In jalla dhanbi 'ani l-ghufrani li amalun — fi llahi yaj'aluni fi khayri mu'tasimi
Ulqi raja'i idha 'azza l-mujiru 'ala — mufarriji l-karbi fi d-darayni wa-l-ghamami
Idha khafadtu janaha dh-dhulli as'aluhu — 'izza sh-shafa'ati lam as'al siwa umami
Wa-in taqaddama dhu taqwa bi-salihatin — qaddamtu bayna yadayhi 'abrata n-nadami
Lazimtu baba amiri l-anbiya'i wa-man — yumsik bi-miftahi babi llahi yaghtanimi
Muhammadun safwatu l-bari wa-rahmatuhu — wa-bughyatu llahi min khalqin wa-min nasami
Wa-nudiya qra' ta'ala llahu qa'iluha — lam tattasil qabla man qilat lahu bi-fami
Hunaka adhdhana li-r-rahmani fa-mtala'at — asma'u makkata min qudsiyyati n-naghami
Sarat basha'iru bi-l-hadi wa-mawlidihi — fi sh-sharqi wa-l-gharbi masra n-nuri fi z-zulami
Atayta wa-n-nasu fawda la tamurru bihim — illa 'ala sanamin qad hama fi sanami
Asra bika llahu laylan idh mala'ikuhu — wa-r-ruslu fi l-masjidi l-aqsa 'ala qadami
Lamma khatarta bihi ltaffu bi-sayyidihim — ka-sh-shuhbi bi-l-badri aw ka-l-jundi bi-l-'alami
Salla wara'aka minhum kullu dhi khatarin — wa-man yafuz bi-habibi llahi ya'tamimi
Jubta s-samawati aw ma fawqahunna bihim — 'ala munawwaratin durriyyati l-lujumi
Mashi'atu l-khaliqi l-bari wa-san'atuhu — wa-qudratu llahi fawqa sh-shakki wa-t-tuhami
Hatta balaghta sama'an la yutaru laha — 'ala janahin wa-la yus'a 'ala qadami
Wa-qila kullu nabiyyin 'inda rutbatihi — wa-ya Muhammadu hadha l-'arshu fa-stalimi
Ya rabbi habbat shu'ubun min maniyyatiha — wa-stayqazat umamun min raqdati l-'adami
Ra'a qada'uka fina ra'ya hikmatihi — akrim bi-wajhika min qadin wa-muntaqimi
Fa-ltuf li-ajli rasuli l-'alamina bina — wa-la tazid qawmahu khasfan wa-la tusimi
Ya rabbi ahsanta bad'a l-muslimina bihi — fa-tammimi l-fadla wa-mnah husna mukhtatami
English translation
A gazelle on the plain, between the willow and the peak — has made the shedding of my blood lawful in the sacred months
Shawqi's opening declares the whole enterprise: a mu'arada — a formal answer-poem — to al-Busiri's thirteenth-century Burda, keeping its basit meter and its mim rhyme across 190 verses, of which Umm Kulthum sang thirty. The gazelle who "makes my blood lawful in the sacred months" is the classic paradox of the ghazal prelude: beauty as a killer exempt from every law. Sunbati sets it in Rahat al-Arwah — "repose of souls" — a transposed relative of Huzam whose lowered, quarter-tone-shaded color gives the opening its veiled, incense-like solemnity.
When it gazed at me, my soul spoke up and said — alas for your side: the unerring arrow has found it
I denied her, and hid the arrow deep in my liver — a wound from the beloved, to me, carries no pain
"A wound from the beloved carries no pain" — the courtly lover's creed, stated with legal calm. The verb order matters: first denial, then concealment; the arrow is not removed but hidden, kept. Umm Kulthum sang the line with almost no ornament, saving her melisma for the words jurh (wound) and alam (pain), the two poles of the paradox.
You who blame me for loving him — love is fate — had longing wasted you, you would not scold or blame
I lent you an ear that took in nothing — many a man seems to listen while his heart is deaf
O drowsy-eyed one, may you never taste love's ache — you have kept your worn-out lover awake guarding love; now sleep
The close of the ghazal section, and one of its most beloved bayts: the beloved's eyes are drowsy because the lover has done all the waking for both of them. In performance this farewell-to-love line drew long repetitions — the singer lingering at the door of the profane before the poem turns, in the next breath, to the reproach of the soul.
O soul, your world conceals every cause for weeping — however lovely the smile it turns upon you
The pivot Busiri made canonical: from the beloved to the nafs, the appetitive soul, addressed like a wayward child. This is the zuhd (renunciation) station of the madih nabawi arc — the world's smile hides a funeral. Sunbati marks the turn with a change of melodic register, stripping back the orchestra so the moral address arrives almost bare.
The mending of your affairs traces back to character — so straighten the soul with virtue, and it stands straight
The soul, in its goodness, dwells in perfect health — and in its evil, in a rank and poisoned pasture
If my sin is too great for pardon, I still have hope — in God, who sets me in the surest refuge
When every protector fails, I cast my hope upon — the Reliever of anguish, in both worlds, and of sorrow
When I lower the wing of humility and ask him — for the glory of intercession, I ask nothing out of reach
And where the pious man brings forward his good works — I bring before him only the tear of my remorse
I have kept to the door of the prince of prophets — and whoever grasps the key to God's door has won
Muhammad, the Creator's chosen one and His mercy — the purpose of God in all creation, in every living breath
The naming bayt. After thirteen verses of preparation the name "Muhammad" finally sounds, placed by Shawqi at the head of the line and by Sunbati at the top of a phrase — in her concerts the word alone could lift the hall. Calling the Prophet God's "chosen" (safwa), His "mercy" and His "purpose" compresses three theological titles into one hemistich of astonishing economy.
The call came: "Read!" — exalted be He who spoke it — a word never joined to a mouth before the one who heard it
The verse quotes the first revealed word of the Qur'an — iqra', "Read!" (Surat al-'Alaq) — and glosses it with a jeweler's precision: a divine utterance "never joined to a mouth" before Muhammad heard it in the cave of Hira. A poem about a poem here touches the event that, for its whole tradition, is the origin of all sacred speech.
There he raised the call to the Merciful, and the ears — of Mecca filled with the holiness of that melody
Glad tidings of the Guide and of his birth ran on — through East and West, as light runs through the dark
You came when mankind was chaos, and passing among them — one met only an idol infatuated with an idol
God carried you by night, while His angels — and the messengers stood waiting at the Farthest Mosque
The isra: the Night Journey from Mecca to Jerusalem, with the earlier prophets waiting "at the Farthest Mosque." Sung in 1946 — while the fate of Palestine was already the burning question of Arab politics — the naming of al-Masjid al-Aqsa carried an unmistakable contemporary charge that no listener needed explained.
When you appeared among them they pressed round their master — like stars around the full moon, or soldiers round the standard
Every man of rank among them prayed behind you — for whoever wins God's beloved takes him as imam
You crossed the heavens, and what lies above them, with them — on a luminous mount bridled with pearl
The will of the Maker, the Creator, and His handiwork — and the power of God, above all doubt and accusation
Until you reached a heaven no wing can fly to — and no foot was ever made to climb
And it was said: let every prophet keep his station — but O Muhammad, here is the Throne: draw near
The summit of the mi'raj and of the sung poem: every prophet is told to keep his rank, and Muhammad alone is called past them to the Throne itself. It is among the most audacious images in modern religious verse — theologians debated whether Shawqi had overstepped — and Sunbati matches it by driving the melody to the top of the singer's range, the music performing the ascent the words describe.
O Lord, peoples have risen up from their deathbed — and nations have woken from the slumber of nothingness
The closing prayer suddenly speaks in the present tense of 1946: "peoples have risen from their deathbed... nations have woken." Shawqi wrote the lines in the Ottoman twilight, but Umm Kulthum's audience — watching empires recede and independence movements surge — heard their own decade named. The song ends not in triumph but in supplication: a beautiful beginning, and a plea that the ending match it.
Your decree has judged us as its wisdom saw fit — how exalted Your face, as judge and as requiter
For the sake of the Messenger of the worlds, be gentle with us — do not deepen his people's abasement, nor brand them further
O Lord, through him You gave the Muslims a beautiful beginning — now complete the grace, and grant a beautiful end
What this song means
Every literature has a poem that later poets must answer, and for the Arabic tradition of prophetic praise that poem is the Burda — the “Mantle Ode” of al-Busiri, a thirteenth-century Egyptian Sufi whose qasida of praise for the Prophet became, over seven centuries, the most recited poem in the Islamic world. When Ahmed Shawqi wrote “Nahj al-Burda” — “The Way of the Mantle” — he was performing the tradition’s most demanding exercise: a mu’arada, a formal answer-poem that keeps the original’s meter (basit) and rhyme (the letter mim) across a hundred and ninety verses, and dares comparison at every line.
In 1946 Umm Kulthum and Riad al-Sunbati distilled those hundred and ninety verses to thirty. The selection is a masterclass in editorial intelligence, preserving each station of the canonical arc: the ghazal prelude, where a gazelle’s glance makes the lover’s blood lawful even in the sacred months; the reproach of the soul, whose world “conceals every cause for weeping” behind its smile; repentance and hope; the entry into praise at the door of “the prince of prophets”; the Night Journey and the ascent through the heavens; and the closing prayer. A listener who never opens the diwan still travels the entire road from profane wound to sacred plea.
Sunbati set the poem in Rahat al-Arwah — “the repose of souls” — a transposed member of the Sikah-Huzam family whose lowered position and quarter-tone shading give it a veiled, censer-smoke gravity. It was a connoisseur’s choice: where “Salou Qalbi,” premiered the same year, stands in the daylight clarity of Rast, “Nahj al-Burda” moves through candlelight. The setting rises section by section with the text, thinning to near-bareness for the address to the soul, breaking open at the first sounding of the name “Muhammad,” and climbing register by register through the mi’raj until the famous summons — “O Muhammad, here is the Throne: draw near” — where the melody performs the very ascent the words describe.
The poem’s boldest moments had always drawn debate; theologians argued over whether calling the Prophet past all other prophets to the Throne itself exceeded the proprieties of praise. Sung, the question dissolved into awe. Contemporary accounts and later recordings agree that the mi’raj section was the evening’s peak, the audience’s exclamations riding under the orchestra — tarab and devotion proving, for the length of a concert, indistinguishable.
And the ending belonged to its year. Shawqi had closed with a prayer written in the Ottoman twilight — “peoples have risen from their deathbed, nations have woken from the slumber of nothingness” — but in 1946, with the war just ended, the empires visibly receding and the independence question filling every newspaper, Umm Kulthum’s audience heard the line as a bulletin about themselves. That is the recurring miracle of her Shawqi repertoire: verse written for one historical moment, detonating in another. “Nahj al-Burda” remains for many listeners the most exalted thing she ever sang — a poem seven centuries deep, a melody at the summit of Sunbati’s craft, and a voice able to carry both at once.
Related songs
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1951 · Maqam Huzam
Ila Arafat Allah (1951): Ahmed Shawqi's Hajj qasida in Riad al-Sunbati's maqam Huzam setting — how Umm Kulthum's pilgrimage anthem came to be, with translation.
Salou Qalbi (Ask My Heart) سلوا قلبي
1946 · Maqam Rast
Salou Qalbi (1946): Ahmed Shawqi's qasida in Sunbati's maqam Rast — the song that made 'goals are never attained by wishing' the proverb of a generation.
Salou Ku'us al-Tila (Ask the Cups of Wine) سلوا كؤوس الطلا
1938 · Maqam Huzam
Salou Ku'us al-Tila (1938): Ahmed Shawqi's wine-song portrait of Umm Kulthum's own voice, set by Riad al-Sunbati in maqam Huzam — annotated and translated.
Hayyart Albi Maak (You Bewildered My Heart) حيرت قلبي معاك
1961
Hayyart Albi Maak (1961): Ahmed Rami and Riad al-Sunbati's late collaboration with Umm Kulthum — a study in longing, concealment, and live tarab practice.
From the wiki
All articlesConcepts
Understanding Maqam
A plain-language guide to the maqam system — quarter tones, sayr, and tarab — through four maqams heard in Umm Kulthum's songs: Rast, Kurd, Huzam, Farahfaza.
Concepts
Where to Start with Umm Kulthum: A Listener's Guide
New to Umm Kulthum? A step-by-step listening guide: which songs to start with, from Enta Omri to Al-Atlal, and how to enjoy her hour-long live tarab recordings.
History
The First Thursday Concerts
Once a month, on the first Thursday, the Arab world stopped: the story of Umm Kulthum's live radio concerts and the ritual they became.