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Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2019
Light I had, a stage too, and the music of my soul,
In this place of solitude and forgotten memories,
I danced, I searched, and I found the Beloved,

The afternoon hour weaved light with gold,
And before the coming of the whispering dark
I flew to the glittering landscapes of contemplation.
Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2019
On the eve of Valentine,
The night roads closed in,

No cards for the abandoned,
No roses for the homeless,

Life lived from a carton,
Eaten and discarded,

They are your brothers,
Your sisters, your friends,

One the eve of Valentine,
A soul wept alone in a deserted road.
Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2019
The storms are here,
People herded into concentration camps,

The regime labels them ‘re-education’ camps,
Torture and ****** takes place there,

They broke and erased a poet and musician inside,
His name was Abdurehim Heyit,

And the world never spoke out,
It danced the lion, dragon, and celebrated a pig,

Out there,
A storm weeps.
Rangzeb Hussain Nov 2018
The real face of a poppy,
Blood red and blind,

They died far from home,
Fighting for rich men’s causes,

Lads from forgotten fields,
Buried in war’s merciless lies,

Their lives brief and loud,
Now, only the decaying silence,

Unbutton your red lapel flower,
And remember lest you forget,

Remember,
The price of war is humanity and truth.
Rangzeb Hussain Jun 2018
From fresh green fields,
To the decaying arches of times,
Every place of solitude is a stage,
Dance and swirl with your soul,
Ink your delicate steps and compose,
Write a symphony woven with stars.
Rangzeb Hussain Jun 2018
The name of the Beloved is in every place,
Every nest,
In every light,

The Beloved is the light in the dark,
The dance in the flame is the Beloved's song,
Only those in love with love can hear that immortal tune.
Rangzeb Hussain Jun 2018
Her name was Razan Ashraf Abdul Qadir al-Najjar,
From 7am till 8pm she helped the injured,
Tending to them on the fields of freedom.

This was her weapon,
Her white medical coat,
Now stained with her life’s blood.

“Her only weapon was her medical vest,”
Her Mother’s voice drowns in pain,
“She may have been small, but she was strong.”

The last time she saw her daughter,
“She stood up and smiled at me,
She flew like a bird in front of me.”

The angel of mercy,
Her goal was to save lives,
And offer relief to the wounded.

Her arms raised high to show she was unarmed,
She approached a victim lying upon the ground,
But the ******’s trigger only knew the language of hatred.

And a bullet blinked hard and fast,
The wrath of the single butterfly bullet was so brutal
It ruptured into three other medics.

A bullet designed to explode upon impact,
It lacerates and pulverises bone and tissue,
The Devil’s Banned Bullet.

It was a Friday,
In the month of Ramadan,
When the desert sand drank her blood.

A weeping Mother kisses a jacket
Stained with her daughter’s blood,
“I wish I could have seen her in her white wedding dress.”

Only the songs of lamentations now,
Grief shrieks through the streets without water,
And the world watches in censored silence.
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