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Najwa Kareem Aug 2017
Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia                      

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

Brothers and Sisters in the Old Town speaking the words Salamu Alaikum

Sisters wearing veils with colors like in the bright rainbow appearing before me and my two new friends from Bosnia in a sky above a bussling bazaar, there a smaller group of humans watching and a larger group of tourists capturing a rare moment in Sarajevo on photo

Many brothers wearing kufis and many brothers with trendy hair styles paired with Western outfits gathering in the courtyard of Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque, the largest in Bosnia and sixteen centuries old. Tourists from Africa, America, Europe, and other landscapes and many locals exchanging words and gestures in a month better than a thousand

Families spending time together at the Grand Mosque and at smaller mosques and in other places surrounded by picturesque hills and green plush trees

A father, a mother, their toddler son...he practicing walking on a masjid's cobblestone, and their young daughter...she smiling at her father as he walks by. Each family member physically at a distance from each other. Each family member at a cell's distance in communion with each other.

In the mid afternoon on a Ramadan's day, a sister from Munich and I having met for the first time at Bey Mosque ride together in a taxi up a steep hill to see a guest house she knows

A smell of lingering cigarette smoke permeating the air within the house so thick beckons me to leave politely and quickly. Unaware of the smell's degree, the owner learns of its' offensiveness as I disclose my sensitivity to & the dislike of the smell of cigarette smoke, both acutely heightened while fasting

Careful steps back down the steep hill to the city center, me avoiding stumbling on a large rock or being runover by a speeding automobile, interestingly instead I stumble upon a beautiful grave yard of uniquely shaped white gravestones and a charming mosque with a high minaret

At the bottom of the hill sits a crafts and artistry shop, one of many in Sarajevo's Old Town. Upon entering and a brief conversation with the owner, a piece of generosity is handed to me, a square shape piece of wood with Ayat tul Kursi in hand calligraphy

During the late afternoon hours, a time for reading Quran by many at mosques in the city. Sisters and brothers sitting on carpeted floors, some with backs supported by mosque walls, some with bodies sitting in chairs, fasters occupied with the most perfected Divine Scripture

A brief leisurely stroll with my two new friends Dzenita and her sister Amina through part of the Bazaar, they sharing opinions of their favorite restaurants, best eating experiences, and other things

In the early evening, a time to buy food to prepare for the Iftar meal. Showing me how it's done in Sarajevo, Dzenita and Amina invite me to join them on an excursion up a hill to buy Somun, a Bosnian flatbread topped with black seeds from the city's famous bread maker. Standing in a line longer than Georgetown Cupcake, Dzenita surprises me with a gift of Somun for myself

Two dates, one cube of Bosnian delight, and one cup of water to break our fast with at the Bey Mosque. A canon bomb sounds off to announce the time for Magrib prayer and Iftar, customary in Sarajevo during Ramadan

Startled and alerted by the bomb's depth and volume, I stand up to join the congregation for communion with God, The God Most Gracious, Most High

Out of nowhere I'm invited to Iftar at a shop nearby the Grand Mosque, about 8 of us guests being served by the warm owner, she offering a meal for Iftar at her shop every night during Ramadan, a big-hearted tradition of hers

Cevapi, Cevapi, Cevapi...I'll say it once more, Cevapi -- sold in Bosnian restaurants, cafes, bazaars, and made in many homes, eaten happily by many fasters at Iftar. Served with freshly chopped onions, some served with a soft white cheese, some with a red peppery sauce, many served with Somun, all ways tried by me and tasting as scrumptious as my first experience with Cevapi in Germany, then falling in love with it

Cold winds at night from the surrounding mountains, a refreshing air yet taking my breath and power away from the chill of it, completely disappearing with my start of Isha prayer with other Muslims and the declaration "Allah hu Akbar"

9 Muftis with impeccable Tajweed each taking turns to recite the words of our Grand Lord before sunrise, me weeping from God's messages, the reality of His greatness, my servitude to Him, and a recognition of sounds similar to that of my Mumin Father's, those familiar to me since birth

Three dear sisters, university students from Turkey and I journey together on foot after Fajr from the Old Mosque to a street train, along the way stopping by a community center, our destination - their home an hour or so away to rest, the four of us coming to know each other and each others' thoughts with every step. Contempleting my desire to spend more time in the city over sleep, the three sisters showing great generosity and I embrace and exchange Salams at a stop near the main station, the three walking with me to an open place before continuing on

In the land of a marriage between the East and the West and where newspaper is used to clean a cafe window, on the list of to-dos -- shopping for gifts for family and for souvenirs, window shopping done along the way, asking myself Shall I buy a Dzezva, a hand-made Bosnian coffee set, or a vintage wood Sarajevo box, or a woven wallet, or Bosnian sweets.

In a bazaar walkway, Maher Zain's song "Ramadan" playing loudly. At another moment, lyrics about a month of devotion and sacrifice from Sami Yusuf echoeing. Shop owners in Old Town with dispositions of calm and quiet grace greeting me and others cordially and respectfully. Shopping a few hours more until near sunset for post cards with a real version of the Grand Mosque, finding only less than satisfactory versions. Time running out for shopping, another reason now to return to Bosnia, God-Willing

Magrib prayer a second night at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque. Observing the crowd, a striking occurrence taking place, a teenage boy walking a small length behind a man on to the mosque carpet. There the boy approaches an older man giving him a respectful hand shake. After prayer, a native of Sarajevo shares with me in wholesome conversation, "You are known in the town not by what you have. You are known by how well you behave."

Another invitation, this time for a cup of a tea at a cafe. Overflowing with people mostly young adults, men and women sitting at tightly packed small tables inside and a few outside, conversations merging into each other with a loud volume flowing throughout, Shisha being smoked by some, cigarettes by some, smoke in the air and the temperature inside melting away heavy make-up on sisters' faces. "This is Ramadan in Sarajevo." Madia says. "One aspect of it." says I. Not having a good feeling right away when walking in and not wanting to stay, the two of us leave quickly.

My two new friends Dzenita and Amina aka angels of hospitality and kindness reciprocating my gift to them of Milka chocolate give me a gift before departing the next day. "Tespih!!" A burnt red and yellow colored set with sparkingly gold thinly cut wrapping paper looking stripes purchased at the Gazi Husrev-Bey Mosque gift shop. Not knowing then I collect Tesbih, their gift is now my most favorite of my Tesbih collection

Husbands and wives, men and women both young and old, well-groomed and well-dressed, some holding hands as they stroll through narrow pathways in the Old Town on a Ramadan's night. Families talking and eating at restaurants, friends in groups sharing laughs, so much to see, so much to experience. At a cafe where baked goods, ice cream, and other sweets are sold, a lady sitting with a group of others initiates speaking to me, stopping me in my tracks. Bidding me farewell, she extends me a gracious compliment

Ramadan 2017 in Sarajevo, Bosnia to Remember

The first day and the second

What a blessing!!!

by Najwa Kareem
Take my hand
hold on through the quicksand
of my expressed agony
for I’m trying to bring us past the vanity
and the demonic hailings I paint
can as swiftly change to angels sailing past the hate
my words can take you from a pearless white night
with only the moon in sight
then twist that light back to
the sun’s beaming might
surround you in a blizzard
with imagery so vivid
it cuts through the snow
like a rock in a rivers flow
bring you from the crumbles of earthly ruins
to the humble pearly white gates of heavenly viewings
invoke you in anger & apathy
a firery rage bellowing
until you hear a fazed echoeing
pulling you from the depths of mind
to the paradise I envisioned for
mankind
corrupt you with illness of doubtful hate
then present a panacea of a
hopeful fate

I know I’m just a man,
but take my hand
and I’ll show to your there’s more to us than a monotonous plan
Robert Guerrero Oct 2012
i ran without looking back
left all those i loved behind
the last words i said
still haunting and echoeing my ears
and i know the further i go
its going to be a long road home

i never made them cry before
but when i left
i heared the weeps
and the tears hitting the floor
like a stampede of hoofs
stomping my heart a mile away

yet i continued on
never looking back
because i knew if i went back
my world would be black
thier hearts would be cold
and the truth would remain untold

i couldnt live a life like that
i had to escape
but my ties to this life
remain in the object of my love
the soul hier to my heart
the one whom i never thought to leave

she stands under an oak
using the leaves as an umbrella
for the rain has started
covering her tears she now sheds
as realization that i will not show sets in
she sits at the beginning of a long road home

i got a long road home
but the troubles i faced
will be worth it
when i find what i've searched so hard for
my sanity that was stripped at birth
my soul that left a pair of hollow eys
and i know this road will only get longer
RW Dennen Oct 2014
I walk this dismal dark and damp dungeon
  Long dark the phantom am i;
Strolling I now take icy breaths;
  Mystery lies within my realm;
Far faint foot echoes announce my impending doom
  I embark upon my midnight
Echoeing chamber room
  It's chains that puppeted victims that had
Screamed for their end and at last,
  I had giggled laughed and touched their quivering chest
And felt their fading warmth
  Then into oblivion casted they were by me

This dark stone its chilling floor
  Where rodents squeek and scurry about,
My only pets and friends I know

Suddenly I hear as HEAVY VOICES of my approaching DOOM
  POUNDING FISTS and swinging logs against my dungeon door and room

I curse the empending light by
Their torches casting beams
Bound from hell and its slithering horrid beam fingers
  Under my dungeon door

I curse my end by angered pounding fists
  Hell bound to see my end to be

What cursed blackened night just lies
  A distant short,
A breathless world my oblivian beckons me by hounds
  Of DOOM,
My parts be scattered h e l t e r  s k e l t e r
  My inners thrown upon old wooden beams above

Soon i will leave this loveless world i made,
  i foretell and kiss only an empty space goodbye,  
Waiting first ****** deep within my flesh to be
Tis a morbid "Halloween Tale"
Sam Weir Mar 2015
The girl with the tearless eyes,
The girl that cannot cry,
The girl thats always
"Good",
Always
"fine"

And you assume she is because
She's not crying
She's just smiling
So she's fine, right?

But she's putting on a face,
Putting on a mask,
Covering the truth,
Covering the past.

She'll cancel plans last minitue only to assure you she's fine just got caught up in some family ties.

But she's got trust issues deeper than the cuts she tries to hide.
More painful than the lies
And trying to pretend everythings fine.

And the names YOU called her?
Still echoeing in her brain,
Still imprinting,
Still remaining.

But she still tries to fake a smile,
Lay low for a little while,
Walk at a normal pace,
Keep it together!

The lie that you're living is bringing disgrace!
You are a disgrace, everything you are is built around it.

Till she can't even remember the lies from reality,
Did i smile?
Did i laugh?
Or am i still pretending?

She asks herself
As she laughs at the reflection in front of herself.
Will i ever be happy?
She asks head bowed down low in front of herself.

She's not okay,
She's always a lie.

Trying to fix her broken soul,
But the ghosts of the past still haunt her.

They torture her
*******
             *******
                           *******
The life out of her
And the happiness
And the hope
It's like the dementors are coming out into the night.

And she's not fine
But she can't cry
For the tears that once flowed put like niagra falls,
Have dried up like the sahara desert.

And her head is still pounding
As she tries to get some sleep
Still stuck poundering on the everyday life she dreads
Still poundering
                            Searching
                ­                            Searching
For her silver saviour,
Hoping to relief the pain she's been feeling in a river of red.

But she puts on a mask and fakes
a smile,
a laugh.

And you assume she's fine,
But she's soulessly screaming
Help me.
              Help me.
                             Help
Well,
I'm up all night
aching
And I'm listening to the hum
of the refrigerator;
On the night watch-
Marking the change of days.
Water's dripping
somewhere
and the hollow empty sound
echoes in my mind like
thought.

Oh
I want to lay
this heavy body down.
Why fight the
irresistible pull of
gravity?
But I fight the urge,
Knowing,
that to
lie alone
in the dark-
listening to the hollow empty sound
of thought,
Echoeing in my mind
like water,
hearing the hum
of my body,
I'd be up all night
aching.
guy scutellaro Jan 2018
darkness wraps around me
inside a sonnet
singing, echoeing across the lake
i hear it ,too
inside a moan, sweet and sad
from
eons ago
primordial      
communication
we are one.
Keith W Fletcher Dec 2017
What kind of obscure analysis
Implies
What instantaneous retraction
Denies
Although I still believe
The illuminated illustration
Stands fast ... in resolute conviction
That poets can be and often are...
... word butchers!

And then... In...
That hyper Inflated
Monumental moment of Silence
You can hear the discourse
Running rampant through
The metaphorically impaled
Dignity...
As it swallows
In hardchecking defense
Restraining those words
Rising up... in roiling need to avenge
This appalling offense

Screaming eyes burning holes
And every single letter as it streams past
Resolved
To the abrogated
With a sudden conviction
That None Shall be absolved
Not a single a or double m
Whit or whim

Simply waiting with war raging
Beneath this thin veneer
Of social mores and polite adherence
The smiling face and the calm appearance
Of an understanding listener

Knowing and aware
Of the growing
Self-affirming
Sense of indignation
That's such effrontery as to call
Any poet
Even if it is themself
That they spoke of
Just 30 seconds ago
And now winding up and winding down
Any point have this interdiction

Sudden ponderous silence  echoeing with a question mark laden intensity  of the guantlets swing...... how can you call yourself a word butcher and be any kind of... of... of... A poet?

With quizzical eyes. and mild surprise
My face pops forward and up
To gaze upon the springboard
Of this questioning ...
... but obviously sincere
Learned yet learning... lover of words
So leaning in close
And then in whispered tones
Whispered in conspiratorial antipathy
Because I treat them gently
I weigh them Fair
I carve just enough excess
to leave them with value
I wrap them in clean white parchment and tie them up with pride ....
....then pass them over
to be ...unwrapped
savored and enjoyed by...... I hope
a recipient
who enjoys what was related  
Then
With all the luck in the world
ends up sated... by the words
and the thoughts
That I had created

Then watching them walk away the army disbanded and the war horses went calm while the learned yet learning lover of words..... couldn't think of a single word to say.
Bre Shaw Dec 2013
Time has grown a little older since we were young
losing tires in parking lots.
Leaving out the front door to be together in the back seat.
And I remember
Spending the night feeling the sound of a summer storm.
Your car echoeing the sounds of an ancient beat.

And I remember
how it moved me.

But when I danced naked in the rain,
you didn't care too much either way.
You watched me,
but I wondered how you could see me.

And then I realized
You were a storm yourself.
One moment calm and controlled
And the next cold and torrential.
With no expression you stared as my movements slowed.
Under their gaze I was disobedient.
A child who should be in bed.


I almost cared.


I laughed as I spun away.
And this time
I danced for me.
Not for you.
You never had to see me.
I was free.

Finally, hip popped and panting,
I glared over my shoulder to meet your eyes,
Defiance radiating from every muscle.

But the storm had already passed
and you just smiled.
Watching me.
Really watching me.
And that was better than any smell
after any rain I could have ever danced naked for you in.

I just danced in you instead.
And watched you as you watched me.
In the crisp of morning, does edge of rest approach. For in the tents of great men do the warriors awaken in preparation for battle.

Sharpening their swords, fortifying their shields, girding their spears and dawning their armours - a crest for honour. Though amid the steadiness, do they await the word of their beloved monach.

"Sar-Shalom!" be the cries heard, echoeing upon the voices of the wind. Reaching even beyond the battlefields. The name of the monach, adored by the great men, anticipating the words to come.

Alas, wisdom comes on the voice of the wind: "In the vallies, will you victories come". Bewildered they stood, asking themselves "why?" But, their monach adorned in their love does their loyalty stand.

So, to the vallies do they march. Upon the word do they stand, anticipation honoured by their trust. For a hard battle will they fight, yet a grand victory will they know - a relief from their beloved.

From the peaks do they descend, and to the vallies do they arrive. The battlefield marked for honour by their seeing eyes;
Unsheathing are they ready, for the accusers come - but unexpecting are they, for the assurance declared in the meeting of blades.

The divines surrounding their accusers, is the battle endorsed for the victors. As they cut down even their final Goliaths. In the praises given up on the voices of the wind, does Sar-Shalom hear the chants - His great men, now the victories of Eden.

Now the journey do they cherish, in returning to their home. The tents of great men, now victories on the heights. What more shall be done? But to sing in glee. For the enemies borders are lost in the restoring victory.

Their wounds shall heal, and bruises shall fade, but the songs of glee shall ring out through time, eternal;
Oh, the voices of the winds chant forever "Victory in the Vallies!"
Tiffany Goskey May 2015
So I can not be in denial anymore. I wanted the memory
of romance to come
out to warm me with its warm cloak. Instead
that which is the truth of hearts speak
loud
vibrating - echoeing -
as a surrender to
the air.

my heart strings
played - an outburst
of the melody that holds
our bodies as one.

Live a strong way -
a long way - a way
of love that takes
centuries to burn down.

Maybe these are high ideals?
I don't know.
Most of the time I just try to
Breathe -

and let the wind
       take me
       as its sister -

chasing me with
its cool wave
of magic.
preservationman Jan 2019
Struggles upon struggles
Fight, Fight, Fight
Protest into true confess
Civil Rights strong with a meaning
This is what Dr. Martin Luther King was demonstrating
Justice with Equality for all and continues to be an absolute must
It’s not about one Race but all being us
The mission was to bring all Races together on one accord
Of course this was going to happen under the watching eyes of our Heavenly Lord
It wasn’t just a dream but it was a vision to move forward, and step back
Civil Rights was the floor plan for the world to take their rightful place
But Dr. King wasn’t going to stop until Justice was in the right face
Avion in beauty
Multitudes being unity
Today 2019, the battle still continues
But 2019 seems to be stuck in repeat from the 1960’s
Dr. Martin Luther King has passed on
But we as the people need to get along and show the powers that be that we belong
Change takes a time, but time has a victory
Victory is its own story
Civil rights seems to be pushed back
But what would Dr. Martin Luther King think of that?
Dr. King is probably turning over in his grave
Now injustice has gone rapid and doesn’t know how to behave
Dr. Martin Luther King was a true leader and devoted in what he felt should be right
Now we shouldn’t take his efforts being light
Voices with power still have might
Dr. King’s dream did come to life
No need to cultivate with sugar and spice
Yet, Civil Rights still has continued work to be done
Let us all come together being among
It doesn’t matter from sun up to sun down
Civil Rights should on our lips being found.
...
..
.



what star bound
that my reflection
has returned
to
the
run
away
look from
me to the sky
teardrop flies
vultures life
buzzards
crows
in
nuendos
come on lets
make babies
in
the
snow
baby don't you know
crueler winds have blown
my teeth have chatter'd
through them matters
never heard an
sound
only questions
echoeing echoes
what star bound
?
...
duely noted
...
..
.
Yitkbel Apr 2018
You don't have to speak
               I hear you loud and clearly
Your hesitance, your doubts and needs
Your precious crystal heart so prone to
               breaking
Your fear echoeing when the silence is speaking
Your immeasurably beautiful soul worth keeping
               Hidden and untouched

I heard all these things
         And translated your silence into love
              Love, that, with my ceaseless praises,
                                    I will be protecting
It will be okay comes a voice,
A thought, something deep down
Reaches out to me to comfort
I hear it echoeing in my mind
I push it back down in me
Not believeing it can be true
But the day goes by and
Every step I take align itself
With exactly the way things
Unfold and then hindsight
Takes place and it was okay
And there was peace during
The seconds of each hour of
The day. Whatever Power that
Is it's sure a beautiful feeling.
Thank you.
Just keep on to the beaches ,no matter what seasons
You never know when tides might change
Theres high tides, theres low tides
Just know what type of observer you are,
Are you a surfer,
Or a swimmer
Dont mind if seas or oceans
The mission is one
And you are the only participant

Causing seizure in the scenery,
Cause i seize my opportunity for the greenery
Rejecting scrutiny,
You sow what to reap,
People acting like grim-reapers ,
Even the grim-reaper is in danger
With this evolution adventure
People seeking immortality
Through cloning and spirituality then proving it scientifically neverminding it naturally as long as we are advancing technologically

Tell tales tentalising testicles and genetiles, guts and bone-morrow
Humidity intimidating humility
If sight be unseen of signs, sound not heard hearing echoeing
Turbulance in balanced emotion tilting logic can still be felt

Can enable ability
Increase chances of productivity
Community not united in poverty
Starvation of philosophical thought critically
Jill Tait Aug 2020
Battered, bruised with a broken lip this boxer fights his foe.. he has stood for five ferocious rounds.. what a warrior’s show.. he lands yet another punch just before the sixth bell..but he didn’t see that left hander and it hurts like hell...

So they wash him over in a hurry.. that cold water soothes his skin.. though the bruises are bulging and aching within.. He is the heavyweight champion of the world.. his title is the best!!.. with the odds stacked in his favour yet he is up against a test..his opponent is younger, fresher and fitter and he has proved beyond any doubt that he is an accurate hitter....

Ding..ding.. goes the bell.. that two minutes sped so fast..  up the champion rises though the crowd are aghast.. as soon as his enemy sees him standing he thumps contact on his face.. that echoeing splat reverberates around the place..blood drips from the corner of his cheek.. this cruel competitor has a mental, mean streak.. down he drops knocked out cold.. this fight has learned him alot.. he is getting too old!!!

— The End —