"moza" poems
"Why me?" You ask,
never the first, I think the last
I recklessly let my heart lose itself,
to the mere of unending stops
I wonder where my mind would guide my fortune
are they meeting, once and for all?
"It's our winding path" I answered.
- Moza
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC
Cuánto vive el hombre, por fin?
Vive mil días o uno solo?
Una semana o varios siglos?
Por cuánto tiempo muere el hombre?
Qué quiere decir «Para Siempre»?
Preocupado por este asunto
me dediqué a aclarar las cosas.
Busqué a los sabios sacerdotes,
los esperé después del rito,
los aceché cuando salían
a visitar a Dios y al diablo.
Se aburrieron con mis preguntas.
Ellos tampoco sabían mucho,
eran sólo administradores.
Los médicos me recibieron,
entre una consulta y otra,
con un bisturí en cada mano,
saturados de aureomicina,
más ocupados cada dia.
Según supe por lo que hablaban
el problema era como sigue:
nunca murió tanto microbio,
toneladas de ellos caían,
pero los pocos que quedaron
se manifestaban perversos.
Me dejaron tan asustado
que busqé a los enterradores.
Me fui a los ríos donde queman
grandes cadáveres pintados,
pequeños muertos huesudos,
emperadores recubiertos
por escamas aterradoras,
mujeres aplastadas de pronto
por una ráfaga de cólera.
Eran riberas de difuntos
y especialistas cenicientos.
Cuando llegó mi oportunidad
les largué unas cuantas preguntas,
ellos me ofrecieren quemarme:
era todo lo que sabían.
En mi país los enterradores
me contestaron, entre copas:
-«Búscate una moza robusta,
y déjate de tonterías».
Nunca vi gentes tan alegres.
Cantaban levantando el vino
por la salud y por la muerte.
Eran grandes fornicadores.
Regresé a mi casa más viejo
después de recorrer el mundo.
No le pregunto a nadie nada.
Pero sé cada día menos.
Déjenme solo con el día.
Pido permiso para nacer.
1.4k
Do we really know the ways of this world?
The current world we are living in?
The world where money is everything?
The world that is full of hatred?
The world that is full of racism?
The world that is full of corruption?
The world that is encircled with negativity?
The world where the poor feed the rich?
The world in which dignity has taken a back seat?
The world in which the rich are given the upper priority?
The world where terrorism makes people live with fear?
The world where your own family members could try to finish you?
The world where power is mandatory?
The world in which **** is now a common thing?
The world in which trust does not exist?
The world in which crimes are increasing profusely?
The world in which some people are living in poverty while others waste billions of dollars?
The world in which your own shadow could betray you?
How do we stay positive in such circumstances?
MOZA MAHMOUD
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Happy as I appear to be,
I wish someone could just read through me.
And get to know the real me.
No one really knows what’s hurting me.
I wish they could see through me.
I know a heart break was the first thing that popped in your mind,
a feeling so unkind.
Sadly, it’s not,
but a feeling that hurts more than you thought.
I m tired of this feeling,
with no signs of healing.
I’m tired of waking up every day,
to bear the same pain,
with no one to explain.
All this has caused darkness which blanked my mind,
leaving me undefined.
But what can I do?
When I can’t break through?
I feel more than broken.
I wish I was outspoken.
I am afraid I’m no longer the girl I used to be.
All the happiness is quickly leaving me.
This feeling is killing me slowly,
and tears can’t stop falling.
Until when will I give a pretentious smile?
If only people could just realize the sorrows in my life.
I wish I could just speak out the truth.
Unluckily it will do more harm than good.
MOZA MAHMOUD
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
I'm still at the station waiting
Waiting for him to return
Still in my bridal attire
Waiting to walk down the aisle
Still waiting
Waiting
W...aiting
W...aitin
W...aiti
W...ait
W...ai
W...a
W...
W
...
Moza Mahmoud
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:18 PM UTC
I felt as cold as ice when i saw you with her.
I did not scream, i did not shout, i did not cry,
all i wanted was to die.
Without shyness you looked at me,
your eyes full of betrayal,
like a predator trying to catch its prey.
When i was running away from you,
you lied to me that you are regretting for losing me.
SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU AND GO BACK TO YOU?
that is a question without an answer to.
MOZA MAHMOUD
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
The skies cry
patting my wounded skin with every drop—
washing my writhed eyes
hiding my ache
Hands move steadily
taking out my umbrella like it's my only shelter
As light As the raindrops were,
the little puddles reflected my heavy soul.
The umbrella she once held;
couldn't cover her own tears.
- Moza
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 8:46 PM UTC
Si yo jamás hubiera salido de mi villa,
con una santa esposa tendría el refrigerio
de conocer el mundo por un solo hemisferio.
Tendría, entre corceles y aperos de labranza,
a Ella, como octava bienaventuranza.
Quizá tuviera dos hijos, y los tendría
sin un remordimiento ni una cobardía.
Quizá serían huérfanos, y cuidándolos yo,
el niño iría de luto, pero la niña no.
¿No me hubieras vivido, tú, que fuiste una aurora,
una granada roja de virginales gajos,
una devota de María Auxiliadora
y un misterio exquisito con los párpados bajos?
Hacia tu pie, hermosura y alimento del día,
recién nacidos, piando y piando de hambre
rodaran los pollitos, como esferas de estambre.
Quiero otra vez mis campos, mi villa y mi caballo
que en el sol y en la lluvia lanza a mitad del viaje
su relincho, penacho gozoso del paisaje.
Corazón que en fatigas de vivir vas a nado
y que estás florecido, como está la cadera
de Venus, y ceniciento cual la madera
en que grabó su puño de ánima el condenado:
tu tarde será simple, de ejemplar feligrés
absorto en el perfume de hogareños panqués
y que en la resolana se santigua a las tres.
Corazón; te reservo el mullido descanso
de la coqueta villa en que el señor mi abuelo
contaba las cosechas con su pluma de ganso.
La moza me dirá con su voz de alfeñique
marchándose al rosario, que le abrace la falda
ampulosa, al sonar el último repique.
Luego resbalaré por las frutales tapias
en recuerdo fanático de mis yertas prosapias.
Y si la villa, enfrente de la jocosa luna,
me reclama la pérdida de aquel bien que me dio,
sólo podré jurarle que con otra fortuna
el niño iría de luto, pero la niña no.
758
Tiptoe to my nights
with tender steps
Unlock the windows open
Guide my thoughts to where they belong
Sing me a lullaby of your presence
On a moonlight night in September
the warm light falls upon her window
your shadow twinkling over
breathing her in
ethereally
The moon once watched melancholy
- Moza
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 3:35 AM UTC
Sometimes life could be so difficult
that you don't know what you are living for
Have you ever thought of running away from yourself
just because you can't handle the people and things out there?
I wonder why we have to live based on people's judgement
when we can live so happily according to our own wishes.
Have you ever thought of screaming so loudly
That you can feel your breathe slowly leaving you?
Evil thoughts running in mind
that I wish to disappear from this world
right from this moment and be by myself
free from the evil world.
Have you ever thought of that?
Moza Mahmoud.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
You were trying everything to get noticed, yet it was lashed in the shutter of echoes. In the end, your mind played the inferior part, believed no one wanted you.
You were used to closed doors.
Never seen the light walk through.
With every step you take, Blur images started to appear of an unwanted child.
- Moza
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 4:08 PM UTC
Eyes fall in love
but it's
the heart that suffers
Moza Mahmoud
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
The past carries heaviness
and the future holds nebulousness
— Moza
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 9:44 PM UTC
Esmaltan el contorno entero de la fuente,
Y son cual pebeteros que aroman la corriente.
Recogiéndolas sufro por la glotona pena
De que no quepan todas en mi canasta llena.
Allí las plantó un mago para que cada moza
Que llene en esa fuente sus ánforas de loza,
Sienta la tentación de prenderlas al seno
Como en un raro búcaro opulento y moreno.
¿Quieres tú una? Aspírala. ¡Si parecen de miel
Y dejan largo rato su perfume en la piel!
Exprímela en los labios. ¡Qué picante sabor!
Juraría que guarda cada cáliz, amor.
Tal vez por eso un mago las plantó allí en la fuente
Para hacer algún filtro con la clara corriente.
394
My imaginary friend
one i take my midnight adventures with
who i lean on to
Are you tired of wondering into the seas of my thoughts?
Are the waves too violent for us to swim further?
Every time you pick your head up, the fierce waves hit harder than the last
Are you holding on tight to our board?
One that builds hope and expectations
You know me better
I'd rather fall into the deep ocean
No board will float us up
— Moza
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC