"No Longer Mine: The Exile of the Inner Voice”

By Amany El-Sawy

Mohy El-Din Mahmoud Hafez's "

يا نفس

" (O Soul) is not merely a poetic monologue—it is a raw, philosophical exorcism of the self, a dialogue of despair, rebellion, and transcendence. The text plunges into the oldest of human conflicts: the war between the soul and the self, between divine submission and worldly chaos, between inner truth and external hypocrisy. Through the lyrical voice, Hafez confronts not only the soul, but an entire corrupted world reflected through its mirror.

Hafez's monologue opens by addressing the soul in its many Qur’anic forms: "أمّارة بالسوء" (the soul that incites to evil), "لوامة" (the self-reproaching soul), and "مطمئنة" (the tranquil soul). This triadic reference instantly signals a deep spiritual and psychological framework rooted in Islamic mysticism and Sufism. Hafez acknowledges the soul’s fluctuating states—its inclination toward sin, its moments of guilt, and its rare serenity. These three modes of the soul become battlegrounds where personal integrity and moral fatigue clash. Thus, the voice is weary. The tone is one of exhaustion with both the self and society. Hafez laments that despite instructing the soul to remain silent—to protect itself from the filth of a hypocritical world—it insists on speaking truth, naked and unadorned. This truth, in today’s world, is dangerous. It hurts. It isolates. It brands the truth-seeker as mad or broken.

Moreover, in "أنظري حولك... يتناثر الفتات من أفواههم" (Look around you… how crumbs scatter from their mouths), Hafez crafts a haunting image of societal decay: mouths still chewing on the labor and suffering of others, symbolic of exploitation, corruption, and moral gluttony. The “shrapnel” that disfigures the speaker’s face is not from war—but from truth-telling, from witnessing and surviving a world that punishes purity. As a matter of fact, Hafez does something rare—he blends political and spiritual disgust into one cry. His monologue becomes a revolt not just against sin, but against a civilization that rewards deceit and punishes conscience.

Furthermore, Hafez's yearning to retreat into an old Arab bathhouse is deeply symbolic. "إرحلي وجدي لي ولك مخدعاً كحمّام عربي قديم” The hammam, in Arab-Islamic tradition, is a place of purification—both physical and spiritual. By invoking it, Hafez wishes for a return to innocence, to sanctity, to quietude far from the barking and buzzing of society. This line is not merely nostalgic—it is a mystical metaphor for inner rebirth, for solitude as salvation. What’s most striking is the reversal of roles: Hafez turns against the soul, declaring himself "منك براء"—disavowing her like one would disown a betraying kin. After offering the soul love, wisdom, and guidance, he finds her craving the clamor of the jesters, the crowd of hypocrites. The soul, meant to be his compass, has become infected by the very world they sought to escape. There is something almost Job-like in Hafez's suffering—a righteous man rejected not only by society but by his own inner being. His final act is a declaration of divorce from the self, a spiritual exodus in pursuit of silence, purity, and divine proximity.

To conclude, "يا نفس" is a deeply existential elegy, a mystical protest that resonates with echoes of the Qur’an, of Sufi philosophy, of Al-Mutanabbi’s pride and Al-Hallaj’s mysticism. Nevertheless, it is also heartbreakingly modern—disillusioned with a world where “the people of the desert” (the simple, honest ones) are asleep, and the jesters run the show. Its language is both elevated and intimate. The emotional arc moves from anguish to defiance, from supplication to renunciation. Hafez's text, in the end, is not just a dialogue with the soul—it is the soul's own reckoning, a trial where the personae is both the accuser and the condemned.In a nutshell, in a time when authenticity feels like a liability, and silence often seems wiser than truth, Hafez’s monologue is an act of spiritual bravery. It speaks to every weary heart that has tried to preserve light in a world that extinguishes it. And in that, "يا نفس" becomes more than a monologue—it becomes a mirror of the human condition, cracked, trembling, but still reflecting the divine spark within.

يانفس

بقلم

محي الدين محمود حافظ

آة يا أمارة بالسوء

يا لوامة تتقلب بها القلوب

يا آمنة زاهدة في زمن الذنوب

يا مطمئنة علي الماء تمشي طروب

نفسي كم قلت لك أن لا تقولي الحق

وكم نهيتك عن ذكر الحقيقة مجردة

بل إلزمي الصمت

فهذا خير لك من مجادلة الآخرين

ألا تريْن...ألا تدركين

أنظري حولك

عندما يحدثونك كيف يتناثر الفتات من أفواههم المليئة من بقايا ما كسبوه من معاش الآخرين ؟

ألا يكفيك يا نفس ما ملأ وجهك من الشظايا

وهم غير آبهين

إعتزلي

وإبقي لوامة

وعودي إلى حيث كنت فلا تتعبيني يا نفس

وأنت تعلمين بأنني من هؤلاء اليوم سقيم.

سئمت العيش بين أُناس حياتهم لعنة من السماء

دون أن يشعرون

كفاك

إرحلي وجِدي لي ولك مخدعا كحمّام عربي قديم

فهو أسمى وأطهر عيشا من جوار النابحين!

هيا فأوانك قد حان

الآن أطلقت لك الحرية يا نفس إلى قمم الجبال

أو تكوني معهم في الأغوار ساحقين

نفسي علمتك الإقناع وما زلت بعنفوانك تتمردين

أما علمتك أن الخضوع والخنوع لغير الله مذلة

ولو بعد حين

غمرتك بالحب والمودة وكسوتك الحكمة

كي تلعني كل جبار لئيم

وبعد كل هذا تُفضلين الزحام بين كل المهرجين

وتقولين صبرا سيعود أهل القفر

ويصحو أهلها من سباتهم اللعين

إذن سيري حيث تذهبين ولا تذكريني

لأنني اليوم منك براء

فلا تعودين

سأحمل روحي إلى حيث لا أرى شؤما ولا أرى الذباب ولا سمع الطنين ولا تسكني قلبي فهو منك الآن حقا حزين

"No Longer Mine: The Exile of the Inner Voice”