"jannah" poems
Left myself behind for Thy sake
Modify me through soul's remake
O' Lord! can't be more of a betrayer
Still though, I yearn for a divine remake
My heart is in Makkah
My heart is in Makkah!
Eyes can't bear watching, but none bothers
I ask for protection, for me and my brothers
Extreme suffering, such a cruel massacre
I ask for Jannah, for me and my brothers
Over our heads have we turned ******* n waste
I ask for purification, for me and my brothers
None cares for the sufferers as though not human
I ask Thy attention, for me and my brothers
My heart is in Palestine
My heart is in Palestine!
I plea to be bathed in the divine henna
In the home of the Prophet, madina madina
In the land of peace, make me offer a prayer
For me, my fellows, in the heart of madina
Revive once again the brotherhood amongst us
Like them ansaris and muhajirs of madina
Can't wait but for a chance or an opportunity
Offering myself forth, take me to madina
My heart is in Madina
My heart is in Madina!
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
He doesn’t have to be physically perfect upon your eyes
His perfection in his faith toward Allah that counts
He doesn’t need to bring you umbrella when it rains
But look upon His ability to shelter
and protect you from the evil eyes
He must not be rich to shower you with diamonds and golds
His richness in knowledge of Islam is mandatory
A Muslim intellectual in sophisticated world,
relevantly sufficient...
He doesn’t take you to the exciting places of the world...
Scuba diving in the famous sea, Shopping in Paris,
but His hand holds yours so tightly
along the journey to the holy land
His lips doesn’t praise you enough,
so sad...your beauty is not worth...
But at night he cries as he prays to Allah...
To protect you from the devils
who only speaks the language of evils and hates
He who guides you not only in the present world
But he holds your hands all the way through...
So that you wouldn’t be lost along your path
To the sacred place of eternity
You and him In Jannah together...
in paradise forever.. Insya Allah...
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
The eyes are the windows to ones soul; they say...
If such a statement is true,
then your eyes illuminate every essence of true beauty,
And your soul must be the kind that one would long to be attached to...
The way the mountains long to one day be within arms reach of the sky,
Up in the clouds,
Cloud nine, high... Off of love
Love,
Like a once blind man watching the sun set for the first time.
Love,
As deep as the depth to the ocean floor,
Love,
As sweet as natures honey...
A love that could have became a reality,
But there's no pain in dreaming...
Dreaming of a love that is eternal like the sweet fragrance of Jannah,
Where rivers of milk and honey flow endlessly,
Where worries cease to exist and happiness, tranquility and sincerity take it's truest form.
A love I that I would cherish, the way I cherish sunny weather,
An exhilarating love that would hopefully last forever,
So I'll dream.
©AishaThePoet
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
i call my ambition, sergeant giggs... don't ask; i also call my left foot lady cantona, it's just regarding the manchester united dream team from the mid 90s.
oi! oi! that strange perfume in my garden
has come back!
i don't like it! i know i'm growing garlic
and rosemary & mint & jasmine in it,
but i'm not liking the eerie honey ****
of it, that i might liken to female genitals,
no!
**** off!
get these gnats away from me!
feed em to the bankers!
point being, if i were ever an islamic
martyr, and i'd get to the "sacred" gardens,
much akin to the hanging gardens of babylon
and i'd be like...
wait a minute, i didn't ask for solomon's
gym routine, i didn't ask for *******
gym membership scheme!
i said, i said that i wanted 72 watermelons!
who said that 72 virgins is a reward?
where are my 72 watermelons?!
i want my ******* 72 watermelons!
1 woman is enough! enough as in:
one too much!
yes, i know nature it cruel, and it proved
that by providing more women than men,
and that when an ****** hits their egos
and shatters them all hell breaks loose...
no! i didn't sign up for a gym membership!
i want my 72 watermelons!
take your virgins and shove them
into fairy-airy stories, or up my ***
how could 72 virgins ever be so appealing
as to take the lives of others?
i asked for heaven, not a gym membership...
idiots are going to be hating the notion
after a few hours:
well... gotta **** 'em all...
otherwise the ones not ****** will go straight
to king solomon, with his permanent
****** **** fusion...
just give me the 72 watermelons and ****
off with your "promises"...
i wasn't promised **** all upon
birth in this world,
but the promises of 72 virgins in the "next" world
seems more like a curse, than honey-dew;
i'd rather worm through
a library of books worth-the-reading,
than a bunch of girls: "worth-the-fuck";
well yeah, "the" oops;
muslims: monkey mentality, even after death;
me? i was imagining it as:
a brain in a pickle jar;
then again, i'd love to chat with 72 prostitutes,
gone down the train ride of waggle waggle...
plus the drinking helps...
less gym orientation mind you:
the already exhausted ***** 'elp a 'ittle.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
Death strode tall
On his midnight stroll
Ticking names off
His unfurled scroll.
Met a man pious
Deep in solemn prayer
Calling for Salvation
To the Father up there.
Met a woman old
Singing chants and hymns
Pleading for Moksha
From this life of sin.
Met a boy kneeling
His head bowed low.
Praying for Jannah,
If He should grant him so.
Death reaped them all
Torn from blood and bone.
Took away their souls
And kept them for his own.
Met the small girl,
Her gaze reaching his.
"Any last prayer?" asked Death.
"Before I plant my kiss."
"Just tell me if the lad
Mine eyes, now his,"
"Will there be," She asked,
"A smile on his lips?"
Death turned away,
From the girl and her soul.
For her name had faded,
From the scribblings on his scroll.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
God works in mysterious way
She doesn't even know
what is she to become
When she chooses to cover herself
She doesn't move toward darkness
living in isolation
surrounded by total strangers
Instead she heads into the light
her journey is made easy
strangers become friends...
She is no longer afraid
of the crude people
She has no fear
of darkest shadows in the past
God is great...
God is forgiving...
God is kind..
She is blessed to be that girl in hijaab
Her beauty is more revealing
Her dignity hidden
Magic happens when...
Hijaab is her choice
She smiles even when most people glare
She remains poise
confidently walk in the crowded streets
She doesn't care even if you stare..
She knows.. what awaits her..
sweeter... calmer...safer...
beauty beyond words..
In Jannah the angels smile with her...
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
50,
50 bodies,
50 dead bodies,
50 dead bodies lay still,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to was not the same as the white man,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to was not the same as the white man, but Allah has given them the highest place in Jannah.
Neither we or Allah will forget these 50 martyrs,
who's blood was shed by a white man with no love in his chest,
the white man who thought he could,
but will never win.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
Sasha Milivoyev
BLACK STONE
Mecca, Saudi Arabia
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
By the Black Stone
Sinful, on my knees,
with tears in my eyes,
I'm pleading,
begging for forgiveness,
when blood-red turned the skies,
the stone grew darker,
blacker than night,
and it used to be white,
as luminous as the daylight,
when from the Garden above,
it fell many a warm Mays ago,
when it fell from Jannah,
far, far down below,
it was whiter than milk
and whiter than snow,
blackened from within,
from human malice and sin.
Never let it slip away,
the dushman came from far away,
tried bringing Kaaba to its knees,
killing Muslims,
the desert still bleeds,
covered in corpses,
devoured by rodents and beasts.
The Judgement Days are dawning soon.
The Sun will stop,
merge with the Moon,
Into the particles
the hills will be shattered,
spill like the honey that is melted,
Allah will be a righteous judge to everyone,
To the fires of hell, the monsters will succumb,
The stone will shine
with whiteness of dazzling purity,
The stone will be singing eternally,
The songs of joy, love and harmony.
Saša Milivojev
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
www.sasamilivojev.com
Copyright © by Sasha Milivoyev, 2022
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 3:18 AM UTC
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door.
If it doesn’t drop, we’ll sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
We demand the precious ring عيسى بن مريم
Now show us the secret place:
We bomb the fiery doors of Hell –
Our slain disturbed they rise again.
Sleepers awoken from their beds.
They sing for the dust gave up it’s dead.
The whipping spur of mercenaries greed,
Roaming, ****** take souls for the cause –
Casually pledge for the Leader’s sake
Whole heart and mind was taken –
They stroked, caressed and kissed her.
Marked men turned into wolves.
Now woe to whom you honoured!
The fickle god paid you back cruelly.
Passing you by as a cheating lover,
As if fairy tales can be heard.
He guided you from above the sky?
It’s fallen in and you pay dearly
Enslaved by things of worldly nature,
Your vigour was lost, vision unsightly,
Now history’s gone, snared –
The traps you fell into laid,
Manufactured by slick rulers,
Your nobles are now lying down.
Sandy graves have been prepared,
Rows of seven, Jannah, Heaven,
For proud in battle we never falter,
Whips flashing and blades to the ready
Hear AK-47s shooting idly
And dare you not squeal:
“My brother, do not let me perish!”
For this day the vocals of our song
Smother the kaffirs weeping
Women lamenting sacrificed children,
Slapping their faces because
The dead will rise and inhale the stench.
Are you sleeping paupers of the globe;
Rich folk feast yet you are fasting.
Who is there to help on these wretched streets?
There is no relief. The wound is incurable.
Some around the world hear and rejoice,
For this evil is transmitted continually.
Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door,
If it doesn’t drop, we sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Find a 'FRIEND'
Whose like a mirror
Which means,
When you cry their cry for you,
When you were happy
their happy for you,
When you need them,
their will be for you,
'FRIEND' are for life
companions needed
Companions
A good friends who bring us to Jannah
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC
i.
if i came to you with a shroud over my eyes, would you ask me why i’m hiding? there’s a whole lot of love, you used to say, and i would stay quiet, while my eyes overflowed with the least of it.
i’ve got lessons to learn, i’m trying to escape it. i’ve got a lot to grow, but i swallowed the seeds- hey. will you kiss me again? you used to tell me that the world is our constellation, that we are all dots connected. will you go? or will you craft me into your grand masterpiece, because i’m still waiting.
the best of us lies in between my sheets, in words i can’t say because they burn my throat. i’ve always been good at swallowing **** whole.
ii.
this is where it started: her lips on my neck, her hands around my neck, doors locked, eyes locked, fingers interlocked, then wandering, but then:
high dives.
and her skin is soft beneath her t-shirt, and her eyes are heavy beneath her bangs, and her body’s weighted blanket as i lie beneath her. some bit of drowning, and i wanna swallow her whole, hold her quiet shaking in my palms, i’ve a palm on her chest and suddenly we’re
just gone.
so all i remember is her mouth and her skin and her, and all i want is her mouth and her skin and-
next time she asks if i’m alright, she guides my hands. she leads me to her jannah, to her atlantis. my hands are under her skirt and my eyes are nervous and she tastes the way she did when we were drunk in her kitchen and i ask her what’s okay and she says it’s okay okay. and for a moment i’m all she wants.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
.
(In the rhythm of the Pain of the World a song dedicated to a girl from Yemen who died of starvation)
- Mother I am hungry,
I am hungry momma.
- Sleep now my beloved,
close your eyes and see,
from Jannah your father
shall return to thee.
Through remnants and ruins
and dunes of blood
seas full of dead bodies
and starving sharks
walked towards the sun in the skies
barefoot, faint and hungry
girl with teary eyes.
I am hungry momma…
Hungry mothers tears are trying to hide
from the eyes of their children
seeing mountains of bones
of those who died
Body covered In abaya, crucified
trembling in the eye of the child
Even heavens cried the ****** tears
yet from brazen World
not a word was heard
- Daddy will not come back,
Instead to him I shall go.
I am not afraid to go on my own,
but mother, I am too late, I know,
Look at my bones, look at me,
my skin they cannot carry.
Bomb blasted
the Yemen train
ravaged the desert to deserted plain
dug out a living wound
a troop of pupils in a single day
to the voiceless pit forever put to lay
Wails are deafening,
fallen on their wedding died groom and bride
chilling cries on Pluto echoing
Clouds blushed in pink,
Angels all perished in a blink
Momma I am waiting for you,
smiling and hungry no more,
Come, daddy is waiting for thee
by the Jannah door.
Emerald green garden is growing,
fig tree is in bloom,
The river of milk and honey is flowing.
Saša Milivojev
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
www.sasamilivojev.com
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 7:41 AM UTC
as they dance endlessly in the summer nights
i spent my whole time gazing at the beauty of yours
i didn't ask you for a dance and yet
you made my heart beat like it danced
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 12:08 PM UTC
I wish for a day
when we invite friends and drive enemies away
a day when flowing tears of joy will be okay
a day when barakallah lakuma will be their word to say
i pray for the day
i pray for the day to come
a daywe leave our parents and create our own home
a day we pay zakaat from our own income
i pray for the day
i wish for the day we wish for eachother
a day smiles will fill faces of our sisters n brother
a day we introduce a law for our families to another
a day when ur brothers will be my brothers inlaw not forgetting the mother
i pray for the day
i wish for the day we read quran
praying together after hearing athan
a day when anything we do becomes ibada not just sunnah
a day we build together our own iman
a day we pray for togetherness in this life and jannah
I pray for the day
by Ishmael Prince W
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
The Palestinian boy looks over yonder in pain and simmering anger
Over the hills a soldier watches his every move
While protecting a land grabber, a "returning owner"
Where does his deliverance come from
PLO ? UN ? HAMAS ? ARAB NATIONS
They can care less
What happened to freedom he ponders
He lost his childhood friend to a sniper's bullet
Like Abel's blood was spilled by his kin
Ishmael's progeny have stained the ground with their blood
Wailing goes on unceasing
The value of a Life has never been so little
Dispensable, easily done away with
But Jannah awaits and Unto his hands, my spirit I commit
The boy mutters silently as he makes his way to another funeral.
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 2:43 AM UTC