"mosque" poems
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die. Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.
Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them.
Here then is what I might call
My Reverse Bucket List
Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere
Barcelona, Spain
Venice, Italy
Oxford, England
Jerusalem, Israel
Luxor, Egypt
Varanasi, India
Hiroshima, Japan
Pompeii, Italy
Other locations
Galápagos islands, Ecuador
Great Barrier Reef, Australia
North Woolwich, London
Churches
St Paul's Cathedral, London
Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
Coventry Cathedral
Córdoba Cathedral, Spain
Blue Mosque, Istanbul
Other structures
Taj Mahal, Agra
Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland
Royal Festival Hall, London
London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time). Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.
Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)
Bayeux Tapestry
"Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England
"Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil
Events
Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife
St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)
Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997
Oberammergau passion play, 2010
Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
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
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
The pigeons are sad
The pigeons saw that
The future comes with bad
The pigeons were telling that
The prophets born here
The prophet know that
It is the land of kind
, welfare and tied
The religions at that land
The assembly of religions
The peace between nations
Were established there
Here was the prophet David
Who the mounts the trees ,
The stones and the birds,
Repeated his prays
He governed with justice
After him ,Solomon was gotten
He governed with justice
The welfare had increased
And the peace with there
The Romans occupied it
And the injustice appeared
The killing and the theft
Were actually increased
Here was born Jesus
Who invited to peace
At shortest and clear
That was not admired
By Romans or Jewish
Who were there
They planned to **** him
The land became unfair
The decreasing of welfare
The increasing of fear
Till the new nation appeared
The new religion increased
It called for justice
It led to peace
The Muslims achieved a victory
As they built a great glory
And they blockaded the land
The patriarch man said,"
We didn’t give the keys
Except to your leader
Who is justice’s famous"
They wore one of soldiers
The smartest cloth
They introduced him
As the prince of Insurers
as the caliph of Muslims
The greatest patriarchs said,"
That is not the man we did
Actually knew and have red
At our book that mentioned
Him actually as we saw awake."
The leader of soldiers ordered
To sent a letter to the caliph
At bright city wide distance
As he wanted to keep blood
Out of bleeding
He wanted not to ****
The innocent people
He didn’t want to bore
His name over death
His religion ordered them
To save the innocent people
To the caliph to came
The caliph and a servant moved
The leader of the greatest land
At that time, at that moment
From the kind and light city
He read the yassin of holy
Quran that equals twenty
Minutes
For riding the donkey
And his servants walks only
Then the caliph got off only
And the servant rode the donkey
And they read the yassin for away
To count and know time
And mention the God only
Then the caliph and servant also
Walked with their donkey
To rest it also
They keep reading yassin only
Till they reached near the holy
City that mentioned with holy
In Quran with great respect
The turn is on the servant
To get that donkey rode
And the caliph would walk
He said," my prince! I must
Get down and you must
Ride that donkey"
He said," then I will be called
Injustice caliph led the insurers
To be injustice at every talkers
And it is your turn
If the air came to me smelt
With good smell than yours
If the water I drink
Have more delicious than yours
If I created from mud
Made of silver and gold
I will rode that animal
And you must go walker
Ride it my good insurer"
The soldiers saw him
They did great clutter
They wanted to salute him
The patriarch said with amazed,"
See what is that noise?
He looked and said
That is him , that is him!"
The patriarch went and looked
He counted patch in his
The cloth of the greatest prince
Of the greatest Nation motioned
At the ancient, at the present
He said," you are who is mentined!
You are the caliph
"Omar" was the caliph
He gave them the safe deal
That mentioned by his name
The patriarch gave him the keys
Of Jerusalem to him
The time for afternoon pray came
The caliph prayed out the church
The patriarch said
Why you didn’t pray at that
Place at the inner of the church
Omar said if I prayed here
The Muslims after that
Say "Omar" prayed here
And they took it
To be a mosque indeed
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC
A mosque vandalized,
A Muslim family killed.
Where is this "freedom?"
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.
When you see the Ramadan Moon,
up in the sky so bright,
you need to get ready,
to pray all throughout the night.
Now that Isha has passed,
lets get up in congregation,
to pray Taraweeh,
with the Muslim nation.
Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.
The first ten days are upon us,
so we need to avoid what's wrong,
keep good intentions,
all day long.
It's the middle days now
when there's things to buy and your phone rings,
don't let these worldly matters,
distract you from doing the right things.
Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.
Now it's the last ten days,
lets stay in the mosque for long,
lets do may good deeds,
and avoid what is wrong.
Lal a tul Qadr is upon us,
it's the Night of Power,
let's start praying the Allah(subhanawataallah),
throughout the night for every hour.
Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.
Ramadan isn't forever,
so lets do what is right,
avoid doing bad,
with all our might.
Ramadan is here,
so lets all fast,
it's the ninth month of the year,
lets make it last.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.
Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.
Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.
They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.
Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
Some said, "Let it burn!"
Freedom means what exactly?
Can we have some too?
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Take the knapsacks
and the utensils and washtubs
and the books of the Koran
and the army fatigues
and the tall tales and the torn soul
and whatever's left, bread or meat,
and kids running around like chickens in the village.
How many children do you have?
How many children did you have?
It's hard to keep tabs on kids in a situation like this.
Not like in the old country
in the shade of the mosque and the fig tree,
when the children the children would be shooed outside by day
and put to bed at night.
Put whatever isn't fragile into sacks,
clothes and blankets and bedding and diapers
and something for a souvenir
like a shiny artillery shell perhaps,
or some kind of useful tool,
and the babies with rheumy eyes
and the R.P.G. kids.
We want to see you in the water, sailing aimlessly
with no harbor and no shore.
You won't be accepted anywhere
You are banished human beings.
You are people who don't count
You are people who aren't needed
You are a pinch of lice
stinging and itching
to madness.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
6.8k
The flag, a white crescent and single star
on a field of crimson — kırmızı, not just 'red' —
tells of Islam. The men drinking beer and rakı
at pavement tables, even in Ramadan,
and the short-skirted, bare-armed girls,
parading with bare-faced confidence,
tell of other influences;
but at the appointed hour we hear the call to prayer
from the marble minaret, a slim finger
pointing to the sky beside shining domes
reflecting the vault of heaven.
At five a.m. we hear it faintly through hotel double-glazing,
or at sunset, as a peaceful accompaniment to the spectacle,
and we remember where we are.
But especially at the midday hour,
when the voice of the muezzin echoes
over noisy street or market,
and from another minaret and another
the duet becomes a trio, a quartet
of different melodies, out of tune
with each other but never discordant
(in these tones the word has no meaning),
the faithful are reminded, however busy they may be,
that their God requires something of them.
Then, entering the cool calm of the mosque,
entering the quiet forest of pillars,
feeling through the soles of our bare feet
marble polished by the tread
of generations of worshippers,
fine-grained wood,
the rich softness of crimson carpet,
we luxuriate in the textures as they combine
with the formal floral patterns of the tiles,
the ornate calligraphy of the inscriptions,
the rich colours of the glass,
and we realise that the builders of these mosques
knew what they were doing, so many years ago,
how peace can enter the soul
through the senses.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
The invitation had arrived and I was over the moon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it is coming soon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
It's been eight years since the first was won by China
It was held in Illinois in a place known as Medinah
Turns out the swimmers used were just not what they seemed
The chinese had a total of nine atheists on their team
So, the time has come to try again and bring it to fruition
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
No date has been decided yet, due to issues with each church
So, even though the invitations out, we're still left in the lurch
Saturday is out because the Jews are all at temple
Sunday, the Christians all must set a good example
Friday, cuts the muslims out for they are at Mosque praying
So we've four days to hold this meet, is what I am now saying
The Chinese team is back again, but the Atheists are out
The team's made up of Christians and two Jews who are devout
Their working on a movement that involves making a cross
The Christian swimmers get it but the Jews don't give a toss
The team from Israel's withdrawn because they are all sitting Shivah
They had a coach drown last week, he hit his head while in the River
The Arabs won't be back, you see they're not interested in the least
They get confused while under water and don't know which way is east
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
Will take place in the New Year, we just need to get permission
The Jews won't swim with Muslims, and the Sikhs are up in arms
Because swimming with their daggers may cause other swimmers harm
But, we've got a great location at the lake up at the park
We can use it when we want to , but it must be after dark
Remember keep an eye out for a poster where you pray
We don't know just when we'll hold it, it may just be today
This is your invitation and the event is coming soon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it'll be held beneath the moon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
See you there...
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
Make love to
Me
In the mosque after
Friday prayer when
No is around to catch
Us doing it
Start tenderly and slowly
And the hard and fast
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 6:14 PM UTC
Now I'd like to tell you of a liquid
And a beverage clearly divine
It matches the holiest spirit
And most blessed communion wine
But it's not to be found at the altar
Of the temple, the mosque or the church
You'll see it in glasses lined up on the bar
Wherever the pensioners perch
Oh Gin, Gin, fabulous Gin
Finest concoction there ever has bin
A knee to the crotch and a kick in the shin
To him that speaks ill of that heavenly Gin
I had a great aunty called Floris
Each morning she'd sternly arise
With a fire in the pit of her stomach
And a merciless scowl in her eyes
But thanks to a magical fluid
By the end she was quite the reverse
And her face was serene and so tranquil
As they bundled her into the hearse
Oh Gin, Gin, glorious Gin
Remover of troubles and varnish and skin
There's many a baby that wouldn't have bin
If not for a bottle of beautiful Gin
Edith was crippled with cramp of the back
And terrible gout of the thighs
Her walk was askew and her bottom had swelled
To a rather astonishing size
But with Gin in the morning, the noon and night
She was right as proverbial rain
She still couldn't walk but now couldn't talk
So no one could hear her complain
Oh Gin, Gin, medicinal Gin
Bracing your face with a permanent grin
Cleans up the silver but tarnishes tin
Joyous the juice of the juniper, Gin
Tis a regular modern elixir
And a kick in the liver to boot
It's companion for many a mixer
To the tonic or blending of fruit
Instilling a mighty contentment
And removing all traces of rage
Though it's mainly imbibed by ladies
Those of a particular age...
Oh Gin, Gin, magnificent Gin
Clean as a whistle and sharp as a pin
Puts hairs on the ears, the chest and chin
Of nannies and grannies all guzzling Gin
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
The villages of Algiers
Well, suburbs
Really, but villages
Is what is said
In French
And heaven
Knows, despite one
Hundred thirty years of
Colonization
Brutalization
Deprivation
The many Algerians
Still
Love French. Those
Villages team with men
At night.
At night, the women
Wait
Indoors
Behind doors, away.
Waiting.
But at night the
Men take the streets.
At night the men crowd
Streets, cut in
Front of traffic, clog
Cafes, stream
Toward the mosque away
From the mosque fill stores
But mostly
Mostly they
Squat
Sit, or just
Hold up walls.
They lean.
Stare. Talk. They watch cars
As they jostle and jolt
Watch other men
Walking, watch
The silence
The noise. Watch
Stars, the
Dark
Still buildings
The passing cat, the rhythm
Of the wind,
Watch the gibbous moon and
It’s cycle
The fullness, the waxing and waning
They watch
They witness
The villages
The suburbs
The streets
They watch
The dead.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
at 9, my father took me to confess.
i crossed myself and stepped into
the closet-like space.
"bless me, father, for I have sinned."
at 10, my mother took me to church.
baptist. southern. the pastor spit venom from his pulpit.
they taught me to fear god
and live my life through christ.
at 15, my friend took me to her synagogue.
i sat with her family as her sister
recited text from the torah.
we celebrated her bat mitzvah. held her high on a chair.
at 17, my best friend took me to mosque.
we washed our feet and dressed in tunics
and prayed towards mecca
and recited words from the koran. we were placed behind the men.
the same pattern was played,
over and over again.
swear to whatever god owned
that shrine
that you would give your life for him.
and make no mistake, because by divine reason, it is a him.
and always,
always,
always,
get down on your knees.
and pray.
i remember thinking every ********* time
that prostitutes and disciples
seemed awfully alike.
and then i thought,
"they're probably right about god being male."
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?
Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
The eye of the hurricane
Swept through a country side
Not batting an eye
All those in it's path perish
A mosque, a person, a Muslin
Another, another, another
Until 49 were gunned down
Killed
Executed
And many more injured
Scarred forever
in·dis·crim·i·nate·ly
A finger on a trigger
Held steady
Unmercifully
Picking targets
To cries and screams
With no regard for life
Only for the shooter
To make a name for himself
His message board
His manifesto
His hate of immigrants
Muslims
Leaving in it's path
Bloodshed
A country's darkest day
His infamy
Who is this individual
The eye of the hurricane
Sitting in the middle
Teetering to the right
An extremist
Category of the worst kind
A patch of ******
Sitting in his landscape
Of his sunken mind
Incarceration
Laughing, laughing, laughing
Today, today, today
And this was his trigger
His devil
His dialogue
Today he spoke
Another, another, another
To cries
That echo
Forever
Long after the hurricane
Loses its tail
This makes me sick
I look up in the sky and ask why
Logan Robertson
3/15/2019
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 7:23 PM UTC
The cycle of time never stops,
That has never forgiven anyone,
Moves fast, slow and sometimes hops,
None can claim from it to be won,
The kings or beggar it behaves the same,
Justice, its essence and time its name.
O, the king lying with the queen,
Thou's given a figure to the love,
The lovers and beloveds are keen,
To visit the Taj as pilgrim of love.
Thousands of the people visit at a time,
To pay tribute a to building of ever prime,
Ah! The mosque is empty but I hear,
Silent prayer calls in surrounding of thine,
People are surrounding thee far and near,
They look happy but sad is the heart of mine,
O Yamuna! Beside thee one is seeing another age,
But time is the obstacle to show its visage.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 4:56 AM UTC
People held hostage, always living in fear,
The barrel of a weapon, is always near.
Riding the train, a blood curdling scream,
A deafening noise, and a bright light beam.
A violent shock wave tears open your flesh,
The lucky ones, receive skin grafts with mesh.
Your arm torn off, artery bleeding is profuse,
A dying thought is, what was the use?
What was the purpose, to **** all these people?
In the name of Allah, perched on a mosque steeple.
Radical extremists don't care about life,
By murdering people they increase human strife.
Wasting resources, bringing the Earth gloom,
Look at faces on a plane, many filled with doom.
The last thirty five years I don't understand,
Middle Eastern countries, together they band.
Bringing terror and hatred towards cultures of the west,
We accept the need to feel your ways are the best.
Pray all you like, cover up a women's face,
Stop trying to change America's philosophy and place.
Once the oil is gone, and the land again bare,
Back to living in tents, flowing robes you will wear.
Your tactics are old, soon you may feel,
The burning of skin, this inferno is real.
A nuclear explosion will end years of frustration,
No longer putting up with terrorists indignation.
Revolutions reveal, the world ending in flame,
Enough with this nonsense, put an end to this game!
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
i guv me luv a cherry ****
she said to me
"how sweet ya art'
i said "ye know
i love ya so"
SUCH A STORY!
FIT FOR REALITY ..TEE VEE!
i say ........
but then a camera man
stuck is **** into the parth
of a sense of...sincerity
COME....WE'LL ****
RAG-HEADED
MOSQUE-ITITES
and keep all da poets
happy!
happy !!
sappy!!!!!!!!!
happy!
---
an den real luv
( oh shut it up!
real luv dont sell
janet jackson's boobererinies!!!!)
an if n you was a real man
ye'll be dead by
sunday!!!
------
-----
i guv me luv a cherry ****
she said to me
"how sweet ya art'
i said "ye know
i love ya so"
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
Modesty;
something
that
a synagogue,
a church,
a mosque
or a temple
doesn't have.
mosquitoism
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Tomorrow New Zealand's
beautiful sunrise won't see
some forty plus lives that they too
never expected to miss.
The rose will flower for them too
brimming with brightest hues
to colour the wind.
So are the nightingales have the lyrics
for them to sing.
Not to mention like yesterday
people around of all walks and colours
expected to greet them good morning!
Alas, it won't happen tomorrow
one openly fired at the peaceful setting.
Killed them all in one go
loved by all the humankind around
and naturally nurtured by reality!
Because we have an enemy within.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 11:25 AM UTC
Dressed in black, dark eyes amused
She strolls into a room
With the specialised tread
Of a femme fatale,
Tossing her streaming hair in arrogant joy.
Her perfect body
Contains the calm and unexpected force
Of the sea, shifting in a moment between
Reason and fury.
She graces the men with sure-footed Arabic,
Stark, sibilant, passionate words
Laughing like a poem.
A Moroccan beauty,
Guedra dancing in the sun,
From the desert coloured mosque of Casablanca
Punctured by the worship Of 70,000 songs,
To the unremitting souks of Marrakesh,
Her complexity
Emboldened by the courage
Of poets.
She has a silence in her intellect
Such as few have,
Unusual evidence of a soul
In a world of franchises,
Her past imaginings deeper and wider
Than that of her peers,
Dancing to fast Gharnati rhythms,
Beneath imagined Andulusian sunsets
And glowing skies.
An effervescent scintillating gasp of fervent
Desert air, beating across her limbs
Moving gently towards silence.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
THE BIG JETS HIT THEIR TARGETS
TWIN TOWERS TUMBLED DOWN
BIN LADEN SMILES WHEN HE RECALLS
HIS FAVORITE KILLING GROUND
AMERICA'S DARKEST MOMENT
WHEN BLACK SMOKE FILLED THE AIR
AS STEEL AND MORTAR VANISHED
ONLY ANGELS WALKED THOSE STAIRS
CHORUS:
WE REMEMBER THAT SEPTEMBER
WHERE THE PAST IS ONE BAD DREAM
THOSE LOVED ONES LIVE WITHIN US
THERE'S NO CHANGING WHAT THEY MEAN
WE REMEMBER THAT SEPTEMBER
AND THE GRAVEYARD THAT WAS MADE
BY THOSE NINETEEN MUSLIM KILLERS.....
WHILE THE DEBT IS STILL UNPAID
AND NOW THEY WANT ANOTHER MOSQUE
NEAR VERY HALLOWED GROUND
TO BUILD IT NEAR GROUND ZERO
IS AN INSULT SO PROFOUND
AND WHERE THEY'VE BUILT THEIR TEMPLES
THEY'VE BROUGHT MILITANTS WITH CLAWS
THEY HAVE NO RESPECT FOR WOMEN
SELLING ISLAM'S THEIR GREAT CAUSE
CHORUS:
WE REMEMBER THAT SEPTEMBER
WHERE THREE THOUSAND BURNED AND SCREAMED
NOW THOSE LOVED ONES LIVE WITHIN US
TIME WON'T CHANGE HOW MUCH THEY MEAN
WE REMEMBER THAT SEPTEMBER
AND THE GRAVEYARD THAT WAS MADE
BY THOSE NINETEEN MUSLIM KILLERS.....
WHILE THE DEBT IS STILL UNPAID
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 10:20 AM UTC