"habibi" poems
dear black folks i
want to be white
dear white folks i
want to be black
dear biracials i want to be
black and white
at the same time
(much love to my kids)
dear jews i
want to be a muslim
dear muslims i
want to be a jew
can you help me out
brother?
can you help me out
sister?
can you help me out
rabbi?
can you help me out
habibi?
i need someone
like you folks
who is aware of
DSR
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
Touch me
Kiss me
Call me your little habibi
Make love to me
Sweetly
Ropes
Chains and hand cuffs
**** me
Sweetly
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 5:50 PM UTC
From white sakura in the garden way,
had gone the milky odor sprey.
and icy heart of flooding sense
that is not me ....
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
The sun kisses mountines , fields
Reflect on Caspian black waters ...
May be i dream of early twilight moon,
Ridding the pinky horse ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
I sent the doves with posts
three or four indeed....but...
They hadnt been read .
may be they still in net...
You sang me the song on the old quatar,
fingers dance a melody ...Habibi ...
Are you alive ?
Then i greet you with hugs
Then ...i will die from hapiness
Just for you...Habibi !
Please be alive ...let me know ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
My land has been ripped.
Its seeds trapped beneath
cinders of ash and rock.
Its root suffocating.
Its branches
no longer branches,
and its buds weeping
somewhere along the edge
of heaven looking
down upon bent cities
mourning those whose
flesh are screaming
to kiss the innocent
skin-like fingernails
of newborn children who
have been burned to death.
And the children!
Oh! The children!
They are sealed within
the winds that dance along
Lebanons green motherly lands
as the embers and crumbs whistle
an eerie tune through the
emptiness of the streets;
My heart is burning with
the souls that have died
a thousand different ways.
Somewhere over the mounds
of Lebanon, souls
that once breathed her air full
of joyous pride, clutch
to the sadness and adorn her
in prayer.
I believe with all that I believe that
somewhere deep within the forests
of her beauty,
Lebanon is smiling
awaiting rejuvenation,
awaiting a nation
dancing in
illumination
One day we will open
our dead eyes and find
that the capital of heaven is
Beirut.
Finally salvation.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
Mashrou’ Leila will lead the revolution
Songs made in my country never fought the system
They never expressed what the youth wanted
or how they really felt about themselves
But their songs make us dream to the Marrikh
They give us a connection to reality in Fasateen
They expressed what the society of spectacle is in only 3 minutes
We could think about our ex in Ala babu
We are able to remember our country in Lel watan
How we always live in a state of exile in **** El-Khandaq
Manipulations In a daily life in Taxi
Grief and tough love in Abdo
Evolution and infinite surrenders in Wa Nueid
The barriers of language and sexuality in Kalaam
The devastating stages of a separation in Bahr
The closeness of strangers in Habibi
They are The Doors of our generation
They made crowds go crazy just like The Rolling Stones
But at the same time they were pure and melancholic just like Jeff Buckley
Thank you for keeping us alive in dark days and heavy nights
Your music will always give us new and unfamiliar feelings
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
*** for habibi
*** in me as we
Watch disgusting
Gory horror
Movies
*** in my mouth
As you watch the movie
As I **** on your
****
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 5:32 PM UTC
From white sakura in the garden way,
had gone the milky odor sprey.
and icy heart of flooding sense
that is not me ....
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
The sun kisses mountines , fields
Reflect on Caspian black waters ...
May be i dream of early twilight moon,
Ridding the pinky horse ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
I sent the doves with posts
three or four indeed....but...
They hadnt been read .
may be they still in net...
You sang me the song on the old quatar,
fingers dance a melody ...Habibi ...
Are you alive ?
Then i greet you with hugs
Then ...i will die from hapiness
Just for you...Habibi !
Please be alive ...let me know ....
that is not me ...
that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
tizzy looped his past: he had looped it and then looped it howevah, whoop to diz
gangstapoetry boosted its duties newly
we simply gs, whose duties include
slowmoflow like snoop, or p, ain't no thang
i create slang in the hate center, last trip i flew thru loops, break dancers and readers
want answers, so we give straight answers
lyrics of fame bangers, one rhyme for eight
don't take chances, tizz stylobate, sunrise
poems born from crime, give it some time
gotta come right, sell it all at one price
my blood cries in rough nights, plagued by
enough of tough stuff, but me ain't a fluff
i bluff and take what's rightfully mine
tizz is frightfully nice, he neva comes twice
coco loco, monica matadora tending
first song jeezy's "poppin" pimpin pimpz
red-blodded hamza comin ova to test me
subtly intimidating, i just call him "habibi"
ice breaker, you feel me, we good, truly
check out jammed jay, pushin designer
hamza on the toilet, yayo, his girl, bunny
snugglin wit jammed jay for real by now
close to my dj area, rubbin *** gainst ****
tina staring camly into her secret intention
i expect something vaguely, forget it, tho
as hamza al-mighty gets back, explodes
he beats up jay, promptly breakin' his nose
jay looks at the blood; pulls out a cudgel
bashin hamza's skull, flesh splinters
hamza strikes back wit em bludgeons
wondaland's red light, serving proudly 24/7
hamza's pack, yousif, said, wassim and mo
ready to battle the enemy of the enemy
lego goon, antwone, bobby butchah, juan
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 1:10 AM UTC
This is a thoroughly post-modern phenomenon.
[Breathe, don't be nervous. It's fine. Wallah, you're not doing anything wrong.]
Digitally arranged meetings with ostensible strangers yet with more familiarity than our ancestors could imagine.
An arranged meeting,
a warm greeting,
a sensing,
a feeling.
“Are you Sami?”
“I am,” as I posture for a hug.
[She’s actually more beautiful than I expected. Her ample curls smell like conditioner and sunshine.]
“So you’re Kuwaiti?"
"Yea, I moved here when I was 18, to Kansas of all places."
"To be honest, I had to look up the emoji flag from your profile. My Muslim WhatsApp group helped me out.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re Muslim?”
“Yea, I was raised Muslim; my mom married a Kuwaiti in the 80s, blah blah blah.”
“What? Your mom lived in Kuwait?”
“Yea, kinda crazy, I know, but it’s a small world.”
[Small worlds make the gaps between souls smaller.
Who knew such a small place could leave such a big impact on so many lives?
Certainly neither of us.
Serendipity?
Allah y3alam.]
“Why do lesbians discriminate against bisexuals? You’d think of all people, they wouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“You’d think, but you’d be wrong. It’s like we have a plague.” Her voice goes on, but my mind drifts off.
[Tortoise-shell glasses, beautiful lashes, manicured eyebrows that frame flickering dark eyes, encased in a forest of curls, legging laced thighs, oh my. ::Deepsigh. Pay attention to what she’s saying! Oh my, she’s my type. This is bad. No, no, hamdilah, this is good.]
“Do you want another round?” the bar keep’s inquiry snaps me back to reality. I interrupt to suggest a change of location. [Perhaps something less commercial, less public, less straight, more private, and more intimate.]
“It’s only a short walk.”
“Yea, let’s do it.”
[By short walk, I mean three doors down from the bar. The perks of suggesting the venue.]
“Shoes off?”
“Yea, it’s habit, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
She sits, crosses her long legs, and gives me this look. My heart flutters; I remember my manners:
“Can I make you a drink? What’s your poison? Gin or *****
I mix our drinks and think:
[She must like me.
This is good.
I’m glad we did this digital dance to find romance.
What a treasure, finding this post-modern habibi.
Alhamdulilah,
Lucky me.]
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Where I’m from,
unlike what Willie Perdomo says,
she might know
where I was from.
Where I’m from,
we love the breath of whispers.
My mom would sing and rhyme
in the ears of my little sisters.
She would hum and mumble,
my dad would whistle,
they would never grumble
until we fall asleep.
Where I’m from,
we greet with
"guten morgen"
to everyone in the breakfast’s table,
and we smile and say,
"takk for maten"
for those who serve the food.
Where I’m from,
we play with colors for Holi,
we fast Ramadan,
we celebrate Christmas.
Where I’m from,
we wish you Happy birthday
in more than 90 languages,
and these are the advantages;
we make you a strawberry cake,
we even make you a card,
but we might throw you in a lake,
or prank you very hard.
Where I’m from,
we say,
“Ni hao ma?”
For the person living next door,
when we leave
we say,
“hasta luego mi amor.”
Where I’m from,
we love the breath of whispers,
she whispers,
“habibi, waheshtini.”
I reply,
"I missed you more,"
and add
“Ma armastan sind.”
Where I’m from,
the smell of your kisses
plays with my senses
so,
I could hear your hair,
I could taste your beauty,
I could see your wintry smell
and I could touch the echo of
I love you
spelled out from your mouth.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
*My poisonous love - A poetic soul
The modification of puckish heart- A cold - blooded bowl
full of your deviant love
stirred with the taste of your strawberry lips , I howl
Real night comes along midnight tranquility
I hear the echoes of yous, Oh cold - Breeze
drives me to your enthral heart
making me lost inside you; 'bout your spellbind heat...
.. resided to your deepen love belonged to mine
With night, you undress your flowery spirit for me, A sly
I rolled up the whole drooling persona of yours with... in the blanket
like a heart seems to be hooked up with its every salacious beat,
~ Oh My French romance & your Italian love so Italic ~
Habibi, I sing you a lullaby
Like a God blessing the whole heart, deeply
The game's made to be over, but not my love, sweetly
Sanorita, Maria, Bri-bee, hey, Nina bonita, oh honey-bee
whatever your name is; wherever you reside to, my spirit needs you completely.*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
Perhaps you are at peace,
or filled with wonder
and curiosity.
Perhaps your eyes burn,
seeing a world that is unclear
and slow.
Perhaps you imagine your sister,
calling your name so that you can return
to the carefree day above.
Perhaps you want to stay,
unmoving, heavy, gently sinking, and
wondering if anyone will notice.
Regardless,
you lift your body back up,
breaking the seal between
awareness and isolation.
Water that had weighed you down
is now humbled to mere drops,
stripped away by the cold air.
There is a sound to this feeling,
this return to clarity,
and you hear the transition
from nothing to everything.
It's the sound of the water,
surrounding your ears,
being replaced by air.
It's the sound of the hazy dream,
being swept away
by the reality of a sunny morning.
It's the sound of you, habibi,
whispering
bamoot feeki
It's the sound of being brought back to life.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
May you rest well & tango with the crimson leaves aglow with whimsical love living in their veins vivaciously while the effervescent vicarious vespers of air spirits lift and play oboe tones atop the glorious ruby mountain in the kiss of dusk.
Also i love you dear, sweet honey cinnamon habibi queen goddess being.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Coming off the unbearably sweet high of our Nation's proud capital.
I salute you.
For bright mornings with fruit smoothies made so masterfully.
Afternoons of stasis.
Of quick showers and quick words on a condensed second floor.
Straight intelligence and legitimate knowledge.
Stories of brothers pranking in Palestine.
"Can I have some?" asked so coyly when candy is available for adults.
Thick hookah smoke burning my lungs and sapphire blues eyes.
Old nicknames. Flying off the tongue like song lyrics we all know.
Unfamiliar places, and familiar places.
Habibi. As-salamu alaykum. Words my cerebrum forgot but heart did not.
"Do you want coffee?" "Come here." "Kiss me."
Your smile. Your home. Your hands. Your eyes.
Nostalgia over taking our souls like baby pictures.
I wish it could've lasted forever.
But nothing does.
And that's good, right?
Too much of a good thing makes us greedy.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
Sweet bird mine...
i wish i were a bird...
to fly so high there...
til i get your way ...
your window ...
to stay there...
to sing every morning a sweet whispers...
and to say ...
good morning my sweet lovely bird...
come to me habibi...
come lets be together...
come lets make love ..
sweet love in this morning...
while we are into our bed,,,
diving into each others..
dancing through our minds ..
come sweetheart..
i smell you now...
lets make love...
let's talk about me and you...
let's talk about feelings...
about our needs and desires ..
and let's make it now ...
as our souls needs...
as we did there...
there where we used to meet...
Ohhh ...
sorry sweetheart ...
it's not just a ***
it's just a feelings ...
as it's love too...
this love which we both feel ...
sweet bird mine...
sing your whispers to me ...
as your needs ...
as your thirst ...
as your thought about me..
as you run into my mind...
and as i need you ..
do you mind...
i'm ready if you don't...
sweet bird mine...
lets start now ...
the madness of love...
our love...
good morning my sweet bird ...
hazem al..
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC
Writing Prompt: July 20th 2014
4 août 2014
Write starting with this line for Yeats: "Now all the truth is out.."
Now all the truth is out.. and he knows. I haven’t told him, but such truth cannot be concealed. It’s too real, like a baby discovering its ability to bleed and heal. It’s too real, secreting from my adrenal glads, quivering my hands, my heart punching against my truth. It’s too true, like it was planned, a surprise party for me where I return home and am unexpectedly greeted by love.
The truth is out, but it was never really hidden, I just didn’t find out until now. It was not a secret, and nothing was omitted, but I hadn’t known how committed I was until I felt I would die if I wasn’t. My love, surging, forceful, moving as the sea–moving me–we are in the age of Pisces indeed, and he is my divine intervention without the lies of religion. My prophet, my prince, is it too soon to say I love you? Is it too soon to say I want to?
The truth is out: there exists an abundance of Sams and Bobbys and Rachels and they are all the same, but the man I call Habibi is as unique as his name.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Dear Fire,
and as I think of you,
I think of how much my heart is yearning.
I know that you are miles away,
but in my heart,
there lies a valley of you and your memories that no can reach.
I hear strange music in my ears as I remember the way you whisper my name and as you hold my hands to a land of mountains and breezes where only you and I can reside.
Habibi, let the words reign and the thrones shower with rain as the world remembers the love story of the fire and water.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
Ma salaam a habibi
As I hope that
Allah can believe you
More then mortal me
Or my mortal
Ma salaama habibi
I wished
That our love became
A reality
Good by my love
Fate is cruel
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 8:19 PM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 11
BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem
Ya habibi , eindama ‘aqra shiftik.
‘Astatie ‘an ‘akhbar milyun qisat , bal ‘udris majmueatan min Al’kutb.
Al’maerifat , ma ‘aseaa ‘iilayh , laysat min Al’kutub,
Lkn, ‘aseaa min Hakimat Al’Nabilat.
Daeuna najlus maeaan waltahaduth , Ya min Al’Nubla’
Baynama tatahadath , daeni ‘alsaq wajhak la’uktusab maelumati.
li’anak ‘ant ‘ahbati! ‘Ant li’Mehbubi!
Oh my beloved, when I read your lips.
I can tell a million stories, rather I study a bunch of books.
Knowledge, what I am seeking, is not from the books,
But, I seek from your noble wisdom.
let’s sit together and talk, oh the noble one,
While you talk, let me glaze Your face to gain my knowledge.
As, you are my loved one! You are my beloved!
Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem
Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK2019
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 13
BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem.
Wala ‘ana saeadatan Wala ‘ana hazin,
Wala ‘ana Al’hayat, Wala ‘ana Al’mawt,
Eindama tatahidu, ‘ant taerif ma ‘ana,
Eindama tatahidu, sataerif min ‘ana,
**** hunak ‘qbul ****
Al’sabab Al’wahid, ‘Ana mawjud tawal hdha alwaqt,
Ruwhiun, aindamajat fi habik lil’abd,
Ah Yah Hubun! Yah Habibi!
Nor’ I am happiness, nor’ I am sad,
Nor’ I am life, nor’ I am death,
When you unite, You will know who I am!
I was been there’ before you were,
Only reason, I existed this long,
My soul, merged in your Love forever!
Oh my loved One! Oh my Beloved!
Allah Khair…..
Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem.
Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK2019
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 14
BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem
Fi zulmat qatimat alruwh,
Du’i almaryiy yuadiy hatmana ‘iilaa mashhad jamil,
Baynama ‘ana ‘ashtaeilu binafsi bshd,
Fi zalamik al’abdii ‘me altahmil sabri!
Ya Habibi!
In Your grim darkness Soul,
My visible light inevitably ensues a lovely scene,
While I am furiously blazing myself,
In your eternal darkness’ with my patience endurance!
Oh My Beloved!
Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem
Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT – BK 2018
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 11:54 AM UTC
I lay down on the ground, ya habibi,
I search for the stars in the sky.
The light symbolizes dark, ya habibi,
I find no stars in the sky.
Not every light's a light, ya habibi,
Not all that shines will ever apply.
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC