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It is very easy to bear a child
when you are a good parent or not

It is also not too tough to write some words
when you are a good poet or not

But it is too tough for a parent to grow up   
their child as being a real man

As it is too tough for a poet to make
a meaningful poem with those words

Though either you are a very good parent
or a very good poet

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@ Musfiq us shaleheen
too tough as being a real man or a poet and this the reality
 Oct 2014 farahD
Liz And Lilacs
Death is upon us all on this dark day.
Death is upon us all on this dark
Death is upon us all on this
Death is upon us all on
Death is upon us all
Death is upon us
Death is upon
Death is
Death.
 Oct 2014 farahD
e
writing: part 2
 Oct 2014 farahD
e
when nobody is there
when nobody listens
a pencil and a piece of paper
or a keyboard and a computer screen
will be there
and listen
you can pour your heart out
or say how you feel
simply by writing down the words
that are trapped in your mind
and i cannot think of anything
lovelier than that
 Oct 2014 farahD
Ekuu
Choices
 Oct 2014 farahD
Ekuu
The choices you make,
between hating and forgiving,
can become the story of your life*.
 Oct 2014 farahD
SG Holter
The Poem
 Oct 2014 farahD
SG Holter
The poems doesn't speak to you.
It sings, it whispers, it screams.

The poem isn't going anywhere.
It dances; glides or crawls.

The poem isn't written.
It is cried, bled or shivered onto

Paper. The poem doesn't care.
It's just there. Where it belongs.

It doesn't mind or like.
It loves, adores or despises from its

Soul. The poems isn't created.
It blesses the poet with its birth.
 Oct 2014 farahD
PrttyBrd
fated
 Oct 2014 farahD
PrttyBrd
how am i to endure if you cease to exist
102714
Soulmates



Hold me closer
Don't let me go
The feel of you inside me
It's like you're touching my soul
Deeper, faster,
Reaching my peak
Don't let me go
My knees are weak
So much friction
Yet there's more to know
It's an addiction
Don't let me go
I'm feeling so high
Stay steadfast and hold
I need to reach the sky
My insides are still cold
Please
*Never let me go
 Oct 2014 farahD
Matloob Bokhari
Dear Friends. My poem Hussain has considered one of the best poems by the critics and is appearing in many poetry magazines in America and Europe.  It has been considered   fit to be included on Global poetry page by The Heart of the Global Poets. I am receiving lots of comments from western intellectuals ,asking me to write more and   tell more about Hussain. I am happy that many western scholars even atheists are appreciating this true spirit of Islam. One of my friend rightly said while  commenting  on the poem that  RELIGION WITHOUT SACRIFICE IS LIP SERVICE.


HUSSAIN
Matloob Bokhari

Spiritual struggle continued against despots;
Declaring all humanity one source, one God,
Abrahamic prophets rose against tyrants.
Father of Islam jumped into furnace of ******,
And wielded his mace to destroy his idols.
Moses with staff stormed Pharaoh's palace,
And brought down the powerful Croesus.
The prophet of Islam was friend of paupers;
Friend of those nobody greeted with salaam.
A slave stood in front of nobles in Ghoba,
But ignorance, soon, replaced revolution.
Under black ashes of defeat, smoldered
Red threat of a potential explosion.
Those who sold their souls ,used religion
As an instrument to suppress humanity.
Ideas were paralyzed and beliefs destroyed.
Man started suppressing in the name of God.
Man started killing in the name of religion.
Power of the tyrant with sword, deception,
Brought a pall of stifled silence upon everyone.
Income from taxes from Rome, Iran and Arabs,
Spent on Green Palace fairer than in fairy tales;
On Iranian musicians with Roman dancers.
The great revolutionary had died in Rabazeh.
Remaining brought under lashes of dominance.
In this age of suppression and black dictatorship,
Some crawled off into the niche of the mosque,
No hoot of an owl was heard in the ruins of faith.
Hussein emerged from sorrowful home of Fatima,
And rebelled against the  most dissolute oppression.
Struggling through glorious power of faith,
Inheritor of the movement, launched by prophets.
With no army, no weapons, no wealth, no force
Left Makkah to meet death - ornament for mankind.
Death as beautiful as necklace around neck of a girl.
Quran his arms, Prophets’ customs shield, faith defense.
Hussain, heir of Adam, sacrificed his friends and his sons
On the threshold of temple of freedom and altar of love.
Holding blood , flowing from throat of his son in  hands
Requested his Lord to accept this sacrifice .
This innocent death protected great Revolution.
On evening before Ashura, Hussain- a lonely man
Washed himself, put on best clothes, used perfumes.
Requested his sister to remember him in prayers.
Inheritor of patience from Prophets; valour from Ali
Finally embarked on voyage to meet his Lord.
Hussain, victim of revival of 'Neo-ignorance' age,
Has been concealed by the greatness of Hussain.
Logic paralyses, mind perplexes to read the sacrifice.
In flow of river, flowing on is movement of Hussain
Yazid died, his rule ended, Hussain died, his rule began.
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