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Eslam Dabank Oct 21
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
    Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
    Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.

A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
    On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
    The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.

Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
    The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
    By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.

By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
    Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
     A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.  

Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
     the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
    The one the poor has not, but does the fool.

Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
    Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
    And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.

If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
    Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
    And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.

In the heart deepened with old repression,
   That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
    In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.

Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
    In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
    On this planet whose population is in slices.
Eslam Dabank Oct 21
An afar star you are, with a dazzling gleam -
     A gleam oldingly blazing; a celestial beam,
But as time passes its verdict, it all shows:
    The star seen is a past dead, afar, not close.

Kings and queens, countries and villages,
    Days and ages, wine and water, and images,
Shall and did fall into the void of nihility,
    But their sorrows and joys are never nullity.

There is sorrow enough in the natural way,
    In men, women, children and the divine bay;
Human clay, angelic light, and unholy fire,
    All of us experience chaos, we are chaos dire.

There is little peace here but it they unpiece,
    The human plenty sees, and that, aims to seize.
We are the sons of Cain; Evil is our cane,
    The human cuts the vein, for a dream in vain.

The lands that once were my haven of calm,
    Shall not, after my aware mind, rest my palm,
For within the fringed river and rain-fed sea,
    Lies an unrightfully stolen Palestinian debris.

And in my other home and sonnet of pride,
    The defiled wishes to wed a refusing bride;
With her yellow face, blue smile, and stain,
    She summons power and stands: dear Ukraine.

Here and there, wombs provide a worthy heir,
    Whose actions tarnish reality; even fresh air.
Here and there, now and then, I am a subject,
   But with sin rebirthed, I fear to be the subject.

Man is not evil, at least in the mind of his,
    And man is not rotten, at least he loudly says,
The man judges and deems everyone but him;
    For his glory created, life never sang a hymn.
Eslam Dabank May 31
Spines of us sapiens connect;
     minds, arms; cause and effect.
Spines of us sapiens connect; 
     thoughts, mouths, until direct.

"Deaf, blind, and roadless be, 
    after one, two, lies and three" - 
What beauty this is! Divine!
    Obedience and nods define. 

In corpore sano, the defiled sit,
    in corpore sano, fools commit. 
They speak, they speak, indeed,
    And we deem ignorance to lead. 

Clean they are, gaily nice too, 
    neat, and in black suits new - 
the outside glimmers, shines;
    Yet the inside on filth dines.

In corpore sano, wars are 'for', 
    "In death, glory we shall store".
The spring is not forgetful, no;
     Flowers ablaze; blue lips blow.

We shall not have to put in, 
    with rotten blood on a skin:
Earth's skin; underneath also;
    we seek dignity, not so-so. 

Saturday! tremulous Saturday!
    Since, passed not a sadder day; 
European corpores, May 1948, 
    With 'clean hands', ate a state.

Soap, water and towels came,  
    with the 'civilized' who aim; 
humanity, and morality not; 
     the core needs washing a lot. 

It rules, it murders, it revives:
    the mens that all living drives;
nerves blocking nerves other, 
   it is 'be satisfied or smother!'

Mens feminine's scorned being, 
    consoles the higher's wellbeing.
An animal's instinct commands, 
    no mens here, nor a mind stands. 

Universes penetrated are they;
    in maleficence power to display.
A fight against the in chains, 
    is history unjust that remains. 

Violence transmitted is sick, 
    it is harm you cause and tick, 
look up a definition of disease,
    It is you; a dictionary agrees.

A terrified soul in health, 
    is a curse, not godly wealth.
A sorrowful soul in health,
    is a fighter without stealth.

A ****** mind healthy, 
    brings destruction deadly.
A corrupt mind healthy, 
    is a treasure unreal, empty.

Dawn is sick of corpore sano; 
    it grinds the fool with a mano.
But the mold lies within it not;
    it is in the soul breeds brought.
'In corpore sano' translates into 'a healthy body'
'Mens' is 'mind' (or 'good mind' according to the context.)

The body might be healthy, but the mind (and soul) might not. They could be corrput, evil, blind, deaf, and all that is similar, no matter how healthy and clean and shiny the outside is. In this poem, I add some example of this: feminism, Palestine and Ukraine.
Eslam Dabank Apr 23
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing, 
     Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love, 
     From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.

My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his, 
     “Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says. 
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble, 
    In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.

His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth, 
     It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth, 
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass, 
     May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.

My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
     Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men. 
The men, women and children, who will lead us all, 
     Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.

She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun, 
     But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone, 
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell, 
     The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.

Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here, 
    They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere, 
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
    Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.

They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs, 
     They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs, 
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing - 
     Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing. 

Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers, 
    Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.  
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
    He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed. 
      
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain, 
     but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
This poem was inspired by a video I recieved from my uncle, who entered his house for the first time after fleeing it to join the Ukrainian army with a fake smile, saying "welcome! Welcome, Oh God!" - the Oh God was a reaction to the rubble and the wreckage he found. His family had to flee to another region as well.
Eslam Dabank Apr 19
Two planets with their two darker moons, resurrect us - 
     Each day, with the white moonrays we daren't discuss, 
Two slivers from the divine universe, a universe blue, 
     Little slivers from the forbidden universe we pursue. 

Planets beloved to the thirsty, lustful, and followers -  
    Upon glimpsing, they are not human, but wallowers!
There, they are the purest, truest, and free of lies, 
    Where embraces, forced or not, reveal the disguise. 

Life in the core, beige seas, and a moon blessing, 
     Are what is unveiled with a universe *******, 
It weeps, it bleeds stars, and breached by invaders, 
     But they care not, those ****** greedy crusaders! 

If close enough, ghostly sanity lost is what remains, 
     But blame yourself not! Blame a universe in chains!
"The dreaded desires to occupy are the poor victims",
     Said some of the species, the law and judges' dictums.

Their planets' soil is honey, we are bears longing, 
     Moons are grapes rare, and beauty we are wronging.
Withered, breathless and embroidered in oldness, 
     Are those planets, caressing fabric killing coldness. 

Non-Indigenous habitants wish to knit filth to them, 
    Impermeable the unknown are, with their ***** stem. 
They cut air, with their unclean air, as if it is theirs! 
    They are afraid of the charm, yet they want shares!

They seek them undercover, the religious, and all.
    Yet play pretend they prefer, from the US to Nepal.
Dazzling is humanity's cheerful reign on morality, 
     It is filled with nonsense, yet they shape our reality. 

Sheet yourself with an atmosphere black as smoke, 
    From the animalistic createurs close whose fire stroke. 
Knives shall be your trees that bloom, to protect, 
    And save you, from the ****** beasts you reject.

In the words above, and what is not their delusion, 
    Women are universes, divine and soaked with effusion -  
An effusion of fear, power, insecurity and greatness,
    Whose fight is wrinkled with rigidity and lateness. 

Planets two, that if shown to the eyes stop cities,  
     Anger narrowness and to wrap, form committees, 
Planets called *******, giving out milk legendary;
     Reviving of race; a continuum of us, the secondary. 
     
A man's world this is, but God's universe is not, 
    Touch not the grace bringing life to blood, you clot, 
The universe is womanhood, and refuge they seek, 
     From their womanhood defiled by thoughts oblique.
Eslam Dabank Apr 16
A rustle on the skin aches the betrayed beauty priestess.
     She resides in the fires germinating the pain greeting us - 
The greeting feminine wounding the was-loyal spark, 
     In the bones renegade of the deity imaging a chast stark.

Fires ablaze rumble the calm calamity long embedded; 
     It is awaken, the memory of the temple-goer beheaded.
The mother of unfairness unchained, by the just wise, 
     Was the birth-giver of horror which from love did rise. 

Devotion is blameless, for it shelters humanity blind, 
     It humanises the divine, and divinises humans kind, 
Fostering within a verdure pale of frayed graves, 
     For the lessons and disappointments, love engraves.  

My Minerva were you, a Gorgon sister was I, poor me!
     The Infatuation agonising of mine, soothed me: the debris,
But, as blind humans are, so are deities of the universe, 
      Deities forgetful of purpose, but not the next verse.

“War is glorified, Earth is a paper, power is its weight; 
     Bloods beautify the victorious' plate, and opens a gate, 
A gate, a shortcut towards the heavens of peaceful gods, 
     Says the saints and repeats the puppets as everyone nods.

Love is dirt, in the name of gods, it all must be purged -  
     It, or what seems similar, noone cares, “the Gods scourged!” 
Who are you, Earth's dust to say no, Lucifer's descendants?
     Servants! accessories you are! Barely, and merely pendants.”

For you: ***** and part, stop and restart, body and heart,
     But your thoughts everything did discard, leaving us apart.
No goddess were you, that, I shall bear in my left days -
     Curtains burnt, scripts are stained, and cancelled the plays.
Eslam Dabank Feb 3
Sons of Anakim, filling the Book of Numbers with terror,
    Antediluvian Gibborim and Nephilim back in unintended error,
Wandering gaily in the land of milk and honey under feet,
    Defying Noah’s flood forgotten, merging a past long obsolete.

“Dwelling they were, there; strong with cities fortified, old -
     The descendants of Anak, whose name in dread is extolled”,
Ten of the spies say, yet two in Yahweh: their power, believe,
     In the land that devours the grasshoppers: them: the naive.

Yet, with lacked faith they marched towards lands of others -
    The lands of the mightier, a land with people, sons and mothers,
Driving out the indigenous from Hebron, Arba’s stolen home,
    As they did to most of Canaan,: the honourable people of “shalom.”

Giants and Canaanites’ existential erasure lies within lies -
    A devotion of destruction it was: an offering with no surmise,
The victims were Gibborim and mundane, all for that:
     A land where conquest is imposed and adored is the combat.    

Ancestors with a catastrophe in common: primitive Nakba:
    The root of ethnic cleansing, dispossession and poisoning of aqua,
Historical thieves and maleficents, with dirt in the heart,
    ******, theological manipulation and conquest creates their art.

Noah survived the divine flood of Mesopotamia and corruption -
    Yet the grandsons were struck with the most fatal: human disruption.
The imperfection is perfection, the order of us is disorder. -
     History does not repeat itself, but human actions with no warder.
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