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Hamna Jun 13
Our homes are war zomes.

Made with bricks of invidiousness.

Polished with the indignities.
Plastered by insincerities.

Smeared by censures.
Stained by the scandalizers.
And
       Shredded by the scandalmongers.
Sayyiduna Haatim Asam  (رَحْمَةُ الـلّٰـهِ عَلَيْه) has said, ‘A malicious person
is not a religious person, a contemptuous person is not a genuine
worshipper, a backbiter is not at peace with himself and one who is
jealous is not supported.’ (Minhaj-ul-‘Aabideen, pp. 75)

Imam Shaafi’i (May Allah have mercy upon him) has said, "Malicious and jealous people get the least peace of heart in the world."


A smoked mirror and a bad heart are not respectable...
It's true to say that we have permitted evils to control our hearts. Outwardly, we are beautiful and caring. And inwardly, our hearts are filled with immense malice and hatred for others. Not only malice but also jealousy, backbiting, and lies. Because of these hidden feelings, our homes are a palace of never-ending disputes. We deceive and envy so many people. Please realize that life is too short for holding strong grudges against someone.
Forgive and forget :))
Sharon Talbot Mar 26
Where do people go
When they are dispossessed?
When the home they know
Is no longer seen as theirs,
When their beds are tossed out,
And those boxes beneath the stairs
Regarded as trash by the soulless ****
Whose only motive is greed?
I have seen images of them in a group,
Walking down a road to nowhere,
Or out on desert sand, wandering.
Where can they go and not be harassed
By owners with no sympathy?
What boat will carry them to another shore
Where they are met with friendship
And not seen as enemies?
How strange and terrible to see them,
All walking in the same way,
Heads down and shoulders bent,
Many carrying a child
Or remnants of a home enfolded.
When they reach borders,
They are stopped and questioned,
Crowded, as are sheep in a pen.
So many are turned away
And some, desperate they become,
Board small boats with promises
To take them to freedom,
Only to founder and sink,
So that the sea becomes
Their last, dark home.
Others consider themselves lucky
To find a tent or metal van
Which they must take away
From those with property,
And keep moving, herded
Like those same sheep,
Yet now almost wild,
Huddling together with strangers
Near a fire in vast and empty lands
That play slow and vivid sunsets
To soothe the rootless host?
They tell each other stories
Of their home or hard journeys,
Give counsel to evade the dogs
That prey on those who wander.
And on those nights in endless lands,
And a dome not veiled by earthly light,
But dazzling the wanderers
With millions of shimmering stars,
That sends dreams of others gone astray
And they lament their fate as their own,
As unknown brothers and sisters,
Who, bewildered, weep for them as well.
This built on itself from a worry about where the people go when they are old or lose their homes. I then had images of people in a similar dilemma, at borders, such as the U.S./Mexico one, or refugees in the Middle East, or those made "nomads" by economic collapse and the decision to live in tents or vans, out under the sky--free but vulnerable. Also, some of this was inspired by "Nomadland".
There are some homes,
Which feels more at home than our home.
People, there are rude but true.
It feels safe to be there rather than roam.
They understand because they themselves have gone through.
But they actually value you for being you.
That's the real home where you find your true construe.
Evie Apr 2020
within my four walls i stay
escaping the yelling
feeling hunted like prey.
check on your friends during quarantine. it hurts a lot of people.
hazem al jaber Mar 2020
Home's words ...

Your beautiful eyes ...
are the great home...
For all  letters....
And my words ...
Longing with a passion ...
To please my pen...
To flow ...
With every sunrise...
Until its inception...
With anther new day...
To live within your eyes ...
So deeply ...
Digging with longs ...
In the heart of your heart...
Where I am there ...
Into that heart ...
Your heart ...
As the book ...
With all my words...
Staying there ...
As a great builder ...
Never to leave ...
No matter how long it takes...
Because it's you ....
The homeland ...
For my all words....

Yes my sweetheart ...
Your eyes ...
Are the home ...
To my words ...

Love you ...

hazem al ...
Afraid of existing not living
Terrified of my freedom being banished
Horrified of my privacy being invaded
No say at all how or when I choose to sleep or sit stand or walk and being allowed to breath the fresh air.
My mind is sick but I should be allowed to live my last days as if it were my last .
not  vanish into thin air
Nigdaw Sep 2019
Inside this scaled down life
We move like goldfish
The pretence of an ocean
In four small rooms.
So many other lives swim
Within the same space
One upon another
Surrounded by the din
Of each other and the world
Passing by.


Is it any wonder
We have become insane
Looking for ways out
Expression through graffiti
Escape through drugs
Destroying the symmetry
Of our own environment
To mimic the bounty of nature
Destroying each other, for peace
And a chance to sleep alone.
Poetress2 Apr 2019
Ants work together,
to gather food for their homes.
They could teach us much!
Arcassin B Jan 2019
By Arcassin Burnham

Soul Searching, Earth lurking,
Just mind your business , we're over here,
Bird chirping, commenting,
Keep talking **** , we can not hear,
This house , ain't a home in my eyes, there's so much to
Be discussed.

Not taking too much from the fort,
I gotta hold it down,
I plan to place this little heart in a jar for my
safe keeping.

Losing my lil sanity and calcifying fear away,
Too much to bare in this pile of flesh that I
could not be in this place, turn day to night
with just a flick, there is no escape...

Take a picture,
Make it last,
Might be your last to be on this earth,
Don't a menace,
Don't be in your feelings,
Worrying too much , they put aside their dealings,
Way too much healing.

Because I'm Losing my lil sanity and calcifying fear away,
Too much to bare in this pile of flesh that I
could not be in this place, turn day to night
with just a flick, there is no escape.
©abpoetry2019

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2019/01/aint-home.html
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