"azan" poems - Hello Poetry

Dal Lake I float on Dal Lake Suspended between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers water lilies, Kashmiri bread and the Muslim prayers that penetrate the hardness of war chanting Allah Bismallah Floating Islam Holy words drenching the air Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle 9 years of war 1,000 houseboats lie empty in the Himalayan fog Intricately carved furniture Thick with dust and the powder of blood and bullets Himalayan silhouette etched black against the song of lotus gatherers Foggy voices like cloud of moon Lotus lake Gray of war and desperation Children beg 1 rupee 1 rupee 1 rupee Endless monologue Parched like lotus shaped paddle They throw flowers to me endlessly I throw them back endlessly Time passes slowly like smoke on a lizard’s tail trailing in the thick, rancid air of burning meat and maple leaves Like a shikara moving over the glass of Kashmir The sound of a dozen Bangees floating over the water Hollow, solemn and mournful Echoing against the hardness of the surrounding mountains The circle of Himalayas Like a womb around the prayers of Pachin In the middle of the lake I hear the call to prayer Azan Nemarz Suba Azan Nemarz Pashin Azan Nemarz Degar Azan Nemarz Sham Azan Nemarz Koftan From dawn till dusk Azan 4 mosques 4 singers 4 directions staggered by a breath like an imperfect echo Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque They want to go home to their wives and children They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs The place of prayer, which has seen death The place where God was pushed out In order to not see the killing To **** what they don’t see The place, which was no longer a refuge Outside Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils cooking in a dented metal *** In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice and throw scraps into the silver water where it washes up onto the ***** boots of a soldier I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle as it touches the ground The prayers have ended

0

Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC

jeff-raheb

Dal Lake

Dal Lake I float on Dal Lake Suspended between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers water lilies, Kashmiri bread and the Muslim prayers that penetrate the hardness of war chanting Allah Bismallah Floating Islam Holy words drenching the air Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle 9 years of war 1,000 houseboats lie empty in the Himalayan fog Intricately carved furniture Thick with dust and the powder of blood and bullets Himalayan silhouette etched black against the song of lotus gatherers Foggy voices like cloud of moon Lotus lake Gray of war and desperation Children beg 1 rupee 1 rupee 1 rupee Endless monologue Parched like lotus shaped paddle They throw flowers to me endlessly I throw them back endlessly Time passes slowly like smoke on a lizard’s tail trailing in the thick, rancid air of burning meat and maple leaves Like a shikara moving over the glass of Kashmir The sound of a dozen Bangees floating over the water Hollow, solemn and mournful Echoing against the hardness of the surrounding mountains The circle of Himalayas Like a womb around the prayers of Pachin In the middle of the lake I hear the call to prayer Azan Nemarz Suba Azan Nemarz Pashin Azan Nemarz Degar Azan Nemarz Sham Azan Nemarz Koftan From dawn till dusk Azan 4 mosques 4 singers 4 directions staggered by a breath like an imperfect echo Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque They want to go home to their wives and children They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs The place of prayer, which has seen death The place where God was pushed out In order to not see the killing To **** what they don’t see The place, which was no longer a refuge Outside Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils cooking in a dented metal *** In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice and throw scraps into the silver water where it washes up onto the ***** boots of a soldier I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle as it touches the ground The prayers have ended

81

Having you to azan our first child Holding my hands when i'm in pure pain Supporting me when i feel low Being my strength in everything Making him everyone's idol Hearing his laughter every single day Seeing your face closely Hugging you tightly when scared Sitting under a tree with him Running here & there to catch us Falling on the green grass Crying then making cute sad face Don't you ever want that to happen? I do :)

0

Apr 10, 2014

Apr 10, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC

demuredemesne

Dreams

Having you to azan our first child Holding my hands when i'm in pure pain Supporting me when i feel low Being my strength in everything Making him everyone's idol Hearing his laughter every single day Seeing your face closely Hugging you tightly when scared Sitting under a tree with him Running here & there to catch us Falling on the green grass Crying then making cute sad face Don't you ever want that to happen? I do :)

14

jangan amuk datang di sela hening, hujan resah masih melaut di tengah jalan jangan angin bisikkan hina, hujan pijak hawa kenyang makan terpaan burung tak bisa terbang jadi makanan hewan atap masjid berhamburan masih kumandang azan jangan rintik sendiri di atas pasang cari sampai gersang tak dapat sayang deras tepi jalan teduh sendiri linang sampai malam ditinggal mati

0

Jan 10, 2016

Jan 10, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC

manusia

senandung hujan

jangan amuk datang di sela hening, hujan resah masih melaut di tengah jalan jangan angin bisikkan hina, hujan pijak hawa kenyang makan terpaan burung tak bisa terbang jadi makanan hewan atap masjid berhamburan masih kumandang azan jangan rintik sendiri di atas pasang cari sampai gersang tak dapat sayang deras tepi jalan teduh sendiri linang sampai malam ditinggal mati

10

Abadan was small those days Maybe my mother doesn't remember Dolls dream too In her flower designed skirt She doesn't like the war The sky of Isfahan is not blue Doesn't know any dolls with blossomed eyes I wanted my red shoes Mom You take the weapon this time Since it's not the war of Jasmine's eyes It doesn't smell as Eglantines do Demanding heads A shining star in his open eyes The sky of Isfahan is not blue The city of turquoise domes and livid mosques The resonance of the song of Azan at noon through those high skies That doesn't know my mother You just saw them as stars Their skies are so high for wishes to reach The city of the livid dames is said to be beautiful... Your laughs were beautiful those days This city Doesn't know my mother Her Abadan was so small آبادان آن موقع کوچک بود شاید مادرم یادش نمی آمد عروسک ها هم خواب می بینند دامنش طرحی گل دار را دارد جنگ را دوست ندارد اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست عروسکی نمی شناسد ... که چشمانش تازه شکوفه کرده من کفش های قرمزام را می خواستم مامان این بار تو سلاح دستت بگیر که جنگ چشمان یاسمن نیست بوی نسترن ها را نمی دهد باز سر می خواهند چشم هایش باز ستاره ای در گوشه ی چشمش بدرخشد اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای مسجدهای کبود پیچش اذان های ظهر در آن آسمان های بلند مادرم را نمی شناسد که تو آن ها را ستاره می دیدی آسمان هاشان بلند اند آرزوها نمی رسند شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای ...که می گویند زیباست خنده های تو در آن موقع زیبا بود این شهر مادرم را نمی شناسد آبادانش خیلی کوچک بود

0

Mar 18, 2017

Mar 18, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC

yasaman-johari

Untitled

Abadan was small those days Maybe my mother doesn't remember Dolls dream too In her flower designed skirt She doesn't like the war The sky of Isfahan is not blue Doesn't know any dolls with blossomed eyes I wanted my red shoes Mom You take the weapon this time Since it's not the war of Jasmine's eyes It doesn't smell as Eglantines do Demanding heads A shining star in his open eyes The sky of Isfahan is not blue The city of turquoise domes and livid mosques The resonance of the song of Azan at noon through those high skies That doesn't know my mother You just saw them as stars Their skies are so high for wishes to reach The city of the livid dames is said to be beautiful... Your laughs were beautiful those days This city Doesn't know my mother Her Abadan was so small آبادان آن موقع کوچک بود شاید مادرم یادش نمی آمد عروسک ها هم خواب می بینند دامنش طرحی گل دار را دارد جنگ را دوست ندارد اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست عروسکی نمی شناسد ... که چشمانش تازه شکوفه کرده من کفش های قرمزام را می خواستم مامان این بار تو سلاح دستت بگیر که جنگ چشمان یاسمن نیست بوی نسترن ها را نمی دهد باز سر می خواهند چشم هایش باز ستاره ای در گوشه ی چشمش بدرخشد اصفهان آسمانش آبی نیست شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای مسجدهای کبود پیچش اذان های ظهر در آن آسمان های بلند مادرم را نمی شناسد که تو آن ها را ستاره می دیدی آسمان هاشان بلند اند آرزوها نمی رسند شهر گنبدهای فیروزه ای ...که می گویند زیباست خنده های تو در آن موقع زیبا بود این شهر مادرم را نمی شناسد آبادانش خیلی کوچک بود

61

This route through market glossy, colored. leads to mosque at length, hazy, blurred. I walk unknown paths tightly holding Quran. From worldly music I strive to decipher Azan. Surrounded by souls as if they will never die. I often visit graveyards to hear someone cry. On streets I pass by women veiled, unveiled. My soul is weak, teachings of prophet is shield. Idols charms me with words hypnotizing, strong. I love Sange-Aswad, I stand 'tween right and wrong.

0

Nov 11, 2014

Nov 11, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC

mdasadullah

I stand 'tween right and wrong

This route through market glossy, colored. leads to mosque at length, hazy, blurred. I walk unknown paths tightly holding Quran. From worldly music I strive to decipher Azan. Surrounded by souls as if they will never die. I often visit graveyards to hear someone cry. On streets I pass by women veiled, unveiled. My soul is weak, teachings of prophet is shield. Idols charms me with words hypnotizing, strong. I love Sange-Aswad, I stand 'tween right and wrong.

20

"Days without you are torturing, nights without you are grievous. I look for the comfort that I used to find in your lap. Where will I get you mumma? Where?", a scream lashed in despair echoed. "I'll be the gallop to **** the dormant twilight, I'll be the golden rays to snog your sleepy eyes, I'll be the stretch of vitality, I'll be the aroma of your morning coffee, I'll be the shower of sprightliness to drench you with new zeal, I'll be the savour of your breakfast and joy of a full square meal, I'll be your steps towards glory, I'll be the sigh after your every failed story, I'll be the hop of excitement, Acquainting a flunk, I'll be the screech of your lament, I'll be the bliss you find seeing the sun going down, I'll be in the sloth dispelling plangent words of azan, I'll be the spectator of your big bright smile, I'll be the witness to the every tear you wipe, Never in your life you're alone, Be it your hearty gale or saddening mourn, Walking by you like your shadow, Even beyond the eternity I'll follow", whispered her mother. :') -Aparajita Tripathi

0

Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC

__apj_

Mother.

"Days without you are torturing, nights without you are grievous. I look for the comfort that I used to find in your lap. Where will I get you mumma? Where?", a scream lashed in despair echoed. "I'll be the gallop to **** the dormant twilight, I'll be the golden rays to snog your sleepy eyes, I'll be the stretch of vitality, I'll be the aroma of your morning coffee, I'll be the shower of sprightliness to drench you with new zeal, I'll be the savour of your breakfast and joy of a full square meal, I'll be your steps towards glory, I'll be the sigh after your every failed story, I'll be the hop of excitement, Acquainting a flunk, I'll be the screech of your lament, I'll be the bliss you find seeing the sun going down, I'll be in the sloth dispelling plangent words of azan, I'll be the spectator of your big bright smile, I'll be the witness to the every tear you wipe, Never in your life you're alone, Be it your hearty gale or saddening mourn, Walking by you like your shadow, Even beyond the eternity I'll follow", whispered her mother. :') -Aparajita Tripathi

21

We come from many places From the poor street down the road To the houses of the rich We could be a Chinese or an American We sometimes have many differences from each other And we could also look completely different Sometimes we quarrel amongst one another So we have many things that keep us separated Things that keep us away from each other Like some force to keep us apart Because of that our chain is destroyed We are disconnected Our power is weak and we are divided But when the call for Azan comes We would stand forgetting about everything else We would stand together We would stand united We would show the chain of Islam

0

Mar 30, 2014

Mar 30, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC

mohammed-fazli

THE CHAIN OF ISLAM

We come from many places From the poor street down the road To the houses of the rich We could be a Chinese or an American We sometimes have many differences from each other And we could also look completely different Sometimes we quarrel amongst one another So we have many things that keep us separated Things that keep us away from each other Like some force to keep us apart Because of that our chain is destroyed We are disconnected Our power is weak and we are divided But when the call for Azan comes We would stand forgetting about everything else We would stand together We would stand united We would show the chain of Islam

18

The yolk of yesteryear festered Leaving fewer shoes at the masjid Fewer smiles at Eid more taut lines At the corner of Imam's mouth as he Raised his hands to cover his head and Cried the Azan to an empty room Behind him tenuous shadows lurked Eager to report back to an eagle with Its talon scratched feudal lines deciding Who gets to live and for how long In countries far away where children Have learned to fear the sky

0

Jul 1, 2017

Jul 1, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC

nuha-fariha

9/11

The yolk of yesteryear festered Leaving fewer shoes at the masjid Fewer smiles at Eid more taut lines At the corner of Imam's mouth as he Raised his hands to cover his head and Cried the Azan to an empty room Behind him tenuous shadows lurked Eager to report back to an eagle with Its talon scratched feudal lines deciding Who gets to live and for how long In countries far away where children Have learned to fear the sky

12

My mobile alarm rang, Assalatu khairum Minan naam. Salah (prayer) is better than sleep, Wake up, Hear the Azan calling. I jumped out of bed, And got ready to go to Masjid, Alhamdulillah. 28/11/2022

0

Nov 17, 2022

Nov 17, 2022 at 4:36 PM UTC

salmabanu-hatim

5:00 AM

My mobile alarm rang, Assalatu khairum Minan naam. Salah (prayer) is better than sleep, Wake up, Hear the Azan calling. I jumped out of bed, And got ready to go to Masjid, Alhamdulillah. 28/11/2022

10