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Egypt's
revolution
now
teeters
on the tip
of a
bayonet.

Mubarak
has been
routed.

The
scurrying
dictator
marched
out of office
by the trooping
shoes of justice.

Chased
away to
Sharm El Sheikh,
condemned to
a life of
counting
his stolen
billions,
reconciling
accounts,
conferring
with his
private
Swiss
Banker,
in the
stress free
swilling
cesspool
of a warm
jacuzzi.

Hosni's
former
deep
pocketed
bursars
Biden and
Cameron
don't waste
any time
to kick
the corpse
of old
Mubarak.

"We
applaud the
democratic
impulses
of the
Egyptian
people."
said Biden.

"We hope you
responsibly handle
your democratic
duties." added
Cameron;
neglecting
to mention
"We will
submit our
list of candidates
for Mubarak's
replacement
ASAP."

Even
Ban Ki-Moon
popped up
on the BBC
to deliver
a slap
to
Mubarak,
now
hiding
under
a kitchen
table at
his
modest
beach front
bungalow.

The Ruling
Military Council
issued a
statement
in appreciation
of Mubarak's
sacrifice,
graciously
leaving
his post
in service to
a peaceful
transition,
ceding
rule to
the justice
of his generals.

The statement
also commended
the sacrifice
of the martyrs
that fell in Tahrir
Square. "The
demands of the
people will be
met." The
generals vow.

Torturer-In-Chief
Suleiman
has also been
vanquished.

The fate of
his million man
apparatus
of repression
remains unclear.

We hope
for a raft of
pink slips;
but we
suspect
that ridding
a government
rife with
committed
fascists ain't
that easy.

There will be
no humiliation
for Mubarak
or his thugs.

Egyptians will
offer the despot
a courtesy
he never
extended
to his people.

The
Revolution
has fully
surrendered
Egypt
into the
custody
of a
posse
of Hosni's
homeboys,
now the
supreme
protectorate
of the nation.

The
constitution
suspended,
the old generals
now reviewing
other old generals
to determine
who will
wield
the state
scepter.

It will be
another
six months
till elections
they say,
it will take
some time to
author
a new
constitution.

"Be patient"
they advise,
as the
the generals
unravel
old scrolls of
dead pharaohs
for pointers
on how to rule.

Some
secular
militants
refuse to
retreat from
the square;
they fear
democratic
vistas may get
blindsided
by radical
Islamists
demanding
Sharia
Law.

Feminists,
Gay's
Liberta­rians
Socialists
liberal
republicans
getting
squeezed
by governing
militarists
and the easy
orthodoxy of
Muslim
Brotherhoods
is a pressing
dilemma.

Amidst the
tension of
competing
interests
and uncertain
pathways to
the future
the generals
get busy
managing
the state
of emergency.

They
raise
state
prayers
to
Allah
imploring
him to
uplift the
nation
from the
pedestrian
morass
of instability.

The good news
is that a clique
of generals
control
the industries
of the nation.

The offices
of government,
military
and industry
are now
seamlessly
one.

The problem
of democratic
inconvenience,
the messiness
of intrusive
red tape
is now
dispensed
with cool
administrative
facility.

Kinda
like a
capitalist
caliphate.

The
mullahs
of
commerce
running the
bakeries,
have long
been busy
baking
the bread
of tyrants,
dolling out
sparse loaves
to hungry
mouths
starving
for freedom.

The generals
must change
the recipe
or it risks
killing its
customers.

Egypt's
compradore
bourgeoisie
funded and
enriched
with
foreign aid
of bombs and
bullets will
fiercely
defend
its franchise.

The screaming
self will of Egypt's
state capitalism,
will assure that
the flowing profits
of American
bribes will keep
the peace
with Zion
sure.

On
Victory Day,
long flags
draped
the body of
Liberation Square.

We remember
the martyrs
who died
in the fight.

We renounce
any move
to derail
our fight
for freedom.

We troop on,
marching to
whistles,
whooping,
calling out
our just
demands.

We are
unsure
of our
next steps.

We are unsure
if the military
hears us.

The generals
have sent
the military
band
to play
the national
anthem.

Young soldiers
hand us flags
to wave.

We hear the
music, we
remain unsure
if they hear us.

A dictator is vanquished
but the dictatorship remains.

Long Live the Revolution!

You Tube Music Video:
Egyptian National Anthem

La Marsellaise

Oakland
2/28/11
jbm
(WIP)
from the collection Tahrir Square written during the Arab Spring Uprisings
EID MUBARAK
wishing all my friends and colleagues "Eid Mubarak."
Celebrate may you, with Biryani, kababs,sevaiya n food from the "sadak".
May there be happinezzz n peace, in your lives.
May there be good health n honey, from the best bee hives.

With best wishes,
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Salmabanu Hatim Jun 2018
Ramadan comes with lots of prayers,
Fasting and doing charity,
With the fragrance of heaven,
Which still lingers in our mind,
To Allah alone, we turn our hopes and intentions.
Ramadan does not leave empty handed,
It leaves with a golden handshake in the name of
EID UL FITR.
To celebrate with family and friends,
Reaching out our hearts,
Extending happiness,
Sewing relationships.
What better than a sweet dish
Sev khurmo (vermicelle cooked in milk with raisins almonds and pistachios ),
To hail in oneness,
Joy and prosperity.
Happy Eid Mubarak
To all on Hello Poetry.
Nazmi Mahamood Sep 2010
I’VE BEEN WAITING
ALL YEAR FOR THIS DAY.
ALL THE MUSLIM BROTHERS
STANDING SIDE BY SIDE in anticipation,

EID HAS COME SO LETS UNITE AND SPREADS MESSAGE OF ALLAH  
THAT EID HAS COME.
All kids will see the gift for you and me
the feeling is there till night.

30 days of fasting comes to an end
Together with your family and friends
Wonderful feeling the fills the world with joy, peace and happiness.
Hope that all these belessing will there in the door step of your success

Muslims wake up early morn
Have a bath put new dresses.
family freinds come over
on this joyous day.

**Eid Mubark to all the muslims in the world!!
Al-Farouk Jul 2016
Allah created the universe
With plenty of beauties
And entities
Eid being a marvel
In His creation.
Its a jubilee a jamboree
Islam golden moments.

Laughter smiles joy
Foods delicacies cuisines
Visits greetings hugs
All in this finicky day
Commemorates agitation
In our islamic entity.
Its surely a jubilee.

Eid a cheerful day
Eid be the morning star
The star that shines,
That shines in a shiny
Shining cloud
Dont you admire this?
Dont you?
I suppose it to be a jamboree.

Eid is here
Embracing do not fear
Eid is a pearl
In the shells of oyster
Rise up and liberate
Jump and hail
'Eid Mubarak'

Eid indeed a regal day
All this is ours
Ours for the taking
Ours for the loving
Ours for adorning
Amid our pride and passion
We shall slogan ourselves
'Eid Mubarak'

Eid a sheen,
Deactivate all forms of sins
Attained in all sorts of scenes
Satisfaction let it be seen
I admit that we do all sheen,
Caution we be keen.
A jamboree I incarnate.

Eid an endeavour
Allah put up this favour
Exquisite and dainty forever
This majestic day never shover
Blessings absolutely covers
Its a jubilee a jamboree
Islam sparkling moments.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
The Eid is bustling with joy
come let’s give it a try
f  
  l
    y
     away!

To the deathless groovy paradise
floating high on the elixir flow:
The triumphant joyous wave
streamed up from the secret bottom line!  
Up above the lapis lazuli sky.

A pair of butterfly basks
in the sunlight
quietly indulges in style.
It goes on in slow motion
illuminating the night a firefly
perches on a slice of the Moon
flanked by the moonlight.

But you and me
we will rhyme and chant
in our lovely mother tongue.
In the same original lingua
like ‘Adam speaks up and all
angels listen in paradise’.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

On the wings of the moonlight
we will
s
  a
    i
      l
       away!

Ambling by the Moon
we'll **** through the starry nooks.
Eyes open and gently perched
atop a star for a moment or two.
We will see miles of galaxies
over the moonlit lakes of the blue
playing cool ravishing lutes!

The spring night is in bloom
and the cute sleeping beauty
wakes up playing the flute!
Musical half lights filling the sky.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

We’ll drink sharaban tahura
the holy wine of paradise
and once for all we will
k
i
  s
    s the death goodbye!

Our story will fill the divine soil
the heaven's flora and fauna
each and everyone will shine on our page
no houri will ever say finito singing our tale!

As Adam did it first stunned the angels
telling the nature of all things in paradise.
We will do that once more without a smirk
this time we will see the loving Creator!
Farah Taskin Jul 2021
The heady perfume of the
Arabian Attars
is
in the air!
A lunar litter
brings Eid
Antimony sulphide
of the downcast eyes
and the pinkish nails
have been painted with henna


Eid is a glorious gift
Bliss is blossoming
The blessings are blooming


The fragrant roses
and the white jasmines
are being elated by
a joyous colour
of the festivity
The nameless
nightingales
are singing the paeans
We're being showered
with Salams
Eid Mubaraks
are echoing
The cheerful children
are being
over the moon
Eid is marvellously nice
and we sacrifice.
Eid has been delightful since my childhood:)
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world...  Moby ****, Herman Melville


Call me
Ishmael.

I hail
from
the clan
of Adam.

I am the
beloved
child
of Hagar;
unbowed son
of an upright
Ibrahim.

I am
the older
half brother
of Musa,
cousin to
Isa and
father to
Muhammad.

I work
in a bakery
that
overlooks
the roiling
waters of
the Nile.

It’s
owned
by an
Egyptian
General,
managed
by a
platoon
of his
hand picked
lieutenants.

I fire the
ovens,
roll the
dough
and pack
the loaves.

We bake
all day
but it seems
we cannot
quench
the hunger
that grips
our people.

My
brother
Musa
says
I bake
the bread
of tyrants
and serve it
to a people
starving for
freedom.

Musa
likes to say
if we wish
to feast at
the banquet
of liberty
we must
refuse
to eat
the bread
of fear.

In winter
our hunger
blends with
the misery
of living
in frigid
apartments.

My
dilapidated flat
in Darb Al-Ahmar
is one of a
thousand owned
by Cairo’s
most notorious
police chief.

The roofs leak,
the plumbing
is broken,
no heat in winter,
in summer
it’s a sweltering
furnace.

My home
is the
handiwork of a
cold blooded
landlord’s
indifference
to the freezing
rooms they
force us
to live in.

In their eyes,
our sole purpose
in life is to feather
their nest.

They demand
that the rent be paid
on the first of every month
and will make our life miserable
if we’re one day late
or a half a pound short.

Do they
actually
think
that we
live
only
to assure
the
warmth
and comfort
for them
and their
children?

In winter
they freeze
us into
inaction;
while
during the
summer,
swirling
ceiling fans
fail to relieve the
oppressive heat
of fire they
breathe down
our necks.

The batons
of the police
freely swing to
crack a head if
we fail to bow to
their authority
or grease
the extortionists
palms with
tributes to their
*******.

They never
shake down
their friends
that drive
the fancy
silver
Mercedes.

The big guys
roll wherever
they want.  

They
roll over
anything
they
choose.

They take
up parking
spaces in our lives;
leaving less room
for us to park
our tiny scooters.

I’m certain
the name
on their
drivers license
says privilege
and impunity.

Yet
somehow
we
always
get stuck
picking up
the tab
for
their
tolls.

Some slavishly
put coins
in parking meters
for them and get
compensated for it
by being offered
the opportunity
to wash their cars.

I’m glad
that I get
to bake
bread.

I was talking
to my friend
Isa at the
coffee shop,
he said,
“We needn't
live in a constant
state of
want and fear.”

A young man
sitting at
the next table
was a zealous
believer from
The Muslim
Brotherhood.

His name is
Muhammad,
he hands me
The Holy Quran.

My dear
Muslim
brother
exhorts
me to
submit.

He says that is
the way to a
fearless life;
free of any
need,
save
Allah’s
salvation.

My  
Muslim
brother
is firm
in his
belief
that
all
the answers
to
all
my problems
and
all
the answers
to
all
Egypt's problems
were
breathed on to
the pages of
The Holy Quran
with
The Prophet Muhammad’s
-(may peace be upon him)-
own breath;
his tongue
inscribing
the holy pages
in Arabic
squeezed
out by the
loving
embrace
of the
Angel
Gabriel.

Mubarak also boasts that
he too has all the answers to
alleviate the ills that plague us.

He’s
been ruling us
for forty years;
while the
Holy Quran
has been
with us
forever.

Our  
impatience
grows
as we yearn
for these promises
to be filled.

Mubarak swears  
he knows what is best
for the children
of Egypt.

Mubarak insists
that the way to
freedom from
want and fear
is submission to
his perpetual rule.

I get uneasy when
someone suggests
an infallibility.

I accept the
supreme dominion
and divine knowledge
of the Quran and Hadiths
but I’m not too sure
that the Imams,
politicians and
generals who
swore by its
truth really
understand
it themselves.

I am left
to question
if any of them
even see me?  

I am more of a
person then a
Muslim;
and
sometimes
I wonder
if even
Allah
has forgotten
the peril of
Ibrahim’s
children.

I wonder have
I disappeared
from Allah’s
unblinking eye
as well?

Sometimes
I look into
the mirror
to see if
I am real.

I am relieved
to see my image.

I have not
become invisible
to myself.

I am
emboldened
to know
that I am a
real person
of flesh and bones
with a mind
full of conviction
refreshed
with the blood
of a warm beating
heart.

I remind myself
I am a man,
not a faceless
subject
to be ruled.

I am an individual
not just another
submissive being
under the control
of a pious Imam.

I am Ishmael.

I recognize the fire of
life in my own eyes.

I can see the scars
of my decisions,
that my life has
etched upon my face.

I am not invisible.

I am not a casualty
of the twists of history
or the events of fate.

I take
responsibility
for me.

I am not a fish
swimming within
a giant school
trapped in an
ocean current
propelled
to a
predetermined
destination
of a well
laid net.

I am a man.

Let it be known
that I claim
responsibility
for my manhood
and I will
command
respect from
those who now
lord over me.

Like my father
Ibrahim, they
will recognize
me as an
unbowed
upright man.

They will
call me
Ishmael.

As I stand
I will raise my voice.

I will not remain
voiceless.

I am one voice
of many
who like me
have not
been heard.

We were once
grovelling dogs
that have been
transformed
into free range wolves,
set free from its cage,
we now form in packs
howling for justice.

We
will raise
our voice
in concert
so all
may hear.

We
will
make
them
listen.

They will
know who
I am.

Call me Ishmael.

Music Selection:
Muddy Waters
Mannish Boy

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
this poem is part of a series on the Arab Spring
In the land of
Pharaohs
we are
compelled
to celebrate
a national
holiday to
repression

we refuse to
mark the day
our chains
were forged

we refuse
to partake
in the worship
of penitentiaries

your hand cuffs
are not our
prayer beads

your prisons
are not our
cathedrals

graven images
of a dictator
are not holy
icons

the glorification
of storming fascists

the swoop
of truncheons

the kick of jack boots
firming on our necks
pressing our face
into the sand
covering our eyes
with the dust of lies
coercing us
to adopt
a litany
of shallow boasts
the lying psalms
of repetitive
propaganda
you alone
swear as truth
enforcing fealty
with the blows
of terror

we reject

we have called
for a mash up
meet up
on Facebook

we have
poked
young
comrades
into action

we will
flood the
streets
dancing
in witness
to our
revelation
of freedom

we declare
ourselves
exiles
from your
prisons

the youth
of Egypt yearns
to show our faces
to the faceless fascists
that dominate and bludgeon us

we reject your endless
state of emergency
it has grown old

the ceaseless flux
of perpetual dominance
must be laid to rest

the imposition of
your ridged stasis
stunts our growth

we can no longer suffer
your authoritarian
paternalism

your urgent repression
no longer stills us

your vigilantism
no longer intimidates

your corruption
no longer cowers us

your laws protecting your privilege
we no longer recognize

we rip to pieces the constitution
that guarantees
our serfdom

we burn the books
that immortalize your fictions

your force designed
to immobilize
now stirs us to action

go back to your gulags
in urgency

call an end
to your emergency rule

clasp the handcuffs
of razor blades
around your own wrists

know that the time is now
the trilling grows

we unhide our faces
to the extremists
that dominate us

we offer our cheeks
to the sadists
who live
to bash
away the
innocence
of children
taking perverse
pleasure in
leaving an
indelible
slash
to
mark
lessons
of citizenship

we decline
your gambit
torpid head fakes
of a despots
shell game

secret police
make plans
in the morning
by afternoon
make excuses
covering tracks
begging
ignorance

Mubarak
has entombed
the nation with
non-stop lies
incessantly
droned from his
national broadcast
company

the youth of Egypt
marches to the funeral
of this dictatorship

we carry with us
holy embalming
spices to
fill the vapid
cavity of its
soulless
corpse

the youth
have commenced
a Hajj

clothed in
denim Ihrams
our Umrah
leads to the
presidential
palace

as we circle
we throw stones
at the devils den
unraveling the
bandages
covering
the wounds
you have
inflicted
on the body
of our nation.

We are
determined
to circle
the palace,
wrapping
the threads
of blood
stained
gauze
around
Mubarak
and his
fascist
police
until the threads
completely
bound them.

We promise
not to rest
until they are
laid to rest,
entombed
with fellow
mummies,
lying in state
under the
burning sands
of the Sahara.

Music Selection:
Police, Rehumanize Yourself


2/13/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
Egypt's Arab Spring began on Police Day in 2011.  Students gathered to protest the police state of Hosni Mubarak.  Yesterday a coup d'état overthrew the democratically elected government.  Today mass arrests of Muslim Brotherhood members are taking place.  Police States are very good at arresting its citizens.
The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Salmabanu Hatim Jun 2019
Namaz have been prayed,
Duas have have been said,
Sev khurma and biryani is ready,
Just go slow and steady.
Make the most of this joyous day I request,
I wish you and your family all the best,
On this Eid Day
5/6/2019
Sev khurma -vermicelli in milk
Duas prayers for what you want from Allah.
Aabid Rumi Apr 2017
KOI AUR HAI
Tere  khaboon mai koi aur hai,aur tere sayee mai  koi aur hai
Kaisay tu dekhay hasrat mere,tu haqeeqat mai koi aur hai
Yeh dil kab tak arizoo karta rahai ,ab koi sabab-e-furkat **
Kaisay tu pehchaanay mere ulfat,tu zahir mai koi ,aur batin mai koi aur hai

Itrey sabnum ki tarah jalah hai mera daman bhi
Mai manzil ki jistu ju kya karoon, ab rasta bhi nazar nhi
yadoon kay samandhar mai dhoob chukka ab toh
Mai haar chukka hoon zindagi  aur ab toh moat bhi ati nhi

Bhulavou yeh gum kaisay ,dil ko kya dawaa doon bhar janay ki
Mai kyun nhi rub a ru khudsay  ,mai kon hoon  ya mujmai he koi aur hai

Faryaad bhi kya ** , naa ashinaa hai yahaan sabhi
Kis  mode pay kya  hogaye koi khabar nhi hummay
Mai toota huva taraa hoon mujmai ab wo  timtimhath kahaan
Lagta Aasmaan bhaag rahaa hai aur zameen fisal rahe ** jaisay

muntazir-e-humraah ** kya,jo rahai thi wo rahai he badhal gaye
Mud kay ab dekhoon  kya, akela rahai safar tha ya koi aur be hai
Mubarak ** tummay ab yeh jahaan dard baraa
Na mud kay kabhi dekhay **** issay dhoobara
Ab aur palkoon pay ashikay baar saha nhi jata
Laboon  pay ab aur bahaana bardast nhi hota

Waqt guzra hai, kyun naa mera bhi saleeka badhal gaye Rumi
Ab aur ranjishay nhi,bhula do ghar koi ghilla aur bhi hai
                                 written by: Aabid Rumi
                             suggested by:Tanzeelah Illahi
when believe becomes faith,life ruins
Vikram sikki Jun 2017
Eid
That's what we need
Now More than ever
To show
That we are together

Enough of "holier than thou"
And clamour over the cow
We couldn't have fought
Had we put a thought
That all our customs and faith
Are to gather and celebrate
And embrace all

So More than ever it's now
Necessary to take a vow
That together we grow
And let them know
Who toss us into fire
Of instigated ire


We all had a choice
And we all have a choice


This time
Let's savor the kheer
And a hug a little tighter
Let the crescent moon glow
On us all a little brighter

Eid Mubarak
Let's be better.
Let's live let's love
“One of the effects of living with electronic information is that we live habitually in a state of information overload.”                                                      
                                                                                      Marshall McLuhan
So, let’s review:
Man is a thinking animal.
Stanley Kubrick took us to space to get us to think.
Marshall McLuhan:  “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”
Hemetucky: what was I thinking?
The Rapture for the 1%:   The Language of the World and The Language of Enthusiasm explains why Sir Richard  Branson’s ****** Galactic will only be taking the richest among us to space.
Ian (Limey Futurologist) Pearson:  “Binary is already the dominant language on Planet Earth with today’s machines having more conversations in 24 hours than the whole of humankind since the birth of Eve.”
Larry Flynt:  “**** is the answer to everything.”
Goofy:  “Yeah, I ****** Minnie. I shagged her rotten, baby!”  
Winston Smith:  “Do it to Julia!”
McNugget Buddies:   “Parts is parts.”                                          
Stunod: “Donuts-a -spella backwards issa stunod.” Think about it.
Tony Soprano.  “You ****** stunod, it's a joke.” (Stunod:  in southern dialect Italian means stupid, or a stupid person) http://(www.urbandictionary.com) define.php?term = stunod  / buy stunod mugs & shirts
Marshall McLuhan:    “Jokes are grievances.”
Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino:  “Antonio Gramsci thought that Stalin and Bolshevism could save him and Italy from Fascism:  stunod.”
The Cloud:  My acceptance of the Cloud into my life and my changeling cyborg self is by no means a capitulation to the surfing life.
Paulo Coehlo:  “The God you seek; that someone who awaits you is you.”
Howard Beale:  “That’s the God *******.”
God:   “Because you’re on television, stunod!”
The Elders of Zion:  Nu?
Meir Kahane:  “Let us not suffer from a national amnesia that causes us to forget who and what we are. No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and place. I know that American and Israeli elections must be limited only to those who understand that the Arabs are the deadly enemy of the Jewish state, who would bring on us a slow Auschwitz - not with gas, but with knives and hatchets. Vote for Newt!”

**** Jagger:    “Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out” (40th Anniversary Edition, Rolling Stones)
Keith Richards +Fijian palm tree = Stunod.  
Marshall McLuhan:   “The more the data banks record about each of us, the less we exist.”    
Howard Beale: “If there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is not only full of *******, that man is  stunod.”
The Nam, Part I:   a demented slaughterhouse within a microcosm and grains of beach sand inside micro-Cosmo Kramer’s shorts. When I was in the Kingdom of The Nam I was always under the influence of some drug, mostly my own pure adrenaline when scared shitless--a frequent condition for me—not only my own piquant adrenal juice but other stuff like ****, hash, Thai stick, *****, amphetamines, H-Horse ******, quaaludes, horse tranquilizers and Russian *****. The drugs were always a welcome and needed friend, a respite from the horrors of war in Southeast Asia. To meditate & levitate, to transmigrate & navigate, to negotiate & regurgitate myself, I needed a head start if I was going to SLIDE through what would be called a wormhole today, making a three-dimensional movement between different parallel universes, a conquest of time and space. Cue our favorite narrator:
Rod Serling:  “You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension--a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
WWII, Part I:  A slider now, I SLIDE to my father’s war—the War in Europe in the years before V.E. Day, May 8, 1945. Suddenly I’m flipped right out of the jungle to Germania, to Deutschland in the winter of 1945. I am a P.O.W. of the Germans, sent out into the economy as slave labor. It’s February in Dresden, Germany, the Baroque capital of the German state of Saxony, the city called lovingly by her (****!) many lovers: “The Florence of the Elbe.” It was a long time ago, during the war and I Survived to Tell the Tale. I am a wet floppy Kilgore Trout; I’ve flopped right out of the Twilight Zone into what appears to be an underground meat locker in Dresden. There are animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling and the building is known as Slaughterhouse Number 5. I am a lucky ******* because even though I don’t know it yet, I’m in the safest place in the entire city. Cue the Bombing of Dresden, a strategic military bombing by the British Royal Air Force (RAF) and the United States Army Air Force (USAAF).  In four raids, 1,300 heavy bombers dropped more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive bombs and incendiary devices on Dresden. The resulting firestorm destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometers) of the city centre and killed many thousands, according to **** figures-- largely discredited by the victors who not only get the spoils but get to spin the history any which way but loose. Casualty figures were 200,000 and death toll estimates went as high as 500,000. Or maybe just 25,000 total, if you believe the ******* Anglo-American valkyries who unleashed the wrath of Khan’s Smoking Joe’s Barbecue Ribs and Hotlinks. Win a war, get a medal and a seat in Congress, maybe the White House; lose a war, get indicted. You’re going to Nuremberg, pilgrim, or the ******* Hague.
Kurt Vonnegut: “World War II was over and I was standing in the middle of Times Square with a Purple Heart on and a purple hard-on.”
Colonel Kurtz:  “We fight for the land that's under our feet, the gold that's in our hands, women that worship the power in our *****.  I summon fire from the sky. Do you know what it is to be a white man who can summon fire from the sky? ...What it means? You can live and die for these things, not silly ideals that are always betrayed  . . . I swallowed a bug. Who are you, captain?”
Willard:   “Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long long year, stolen many man's soul and faith. Stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change. Killed the Tsar and his ministers, Anastasia screamed in vain. I rode a tank, held a gen'rals rank when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank. Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.”  
WWII, Part II:  The bombing of Dresden had to have been some kind of a violation of some International Code or Geneva Convention. But, of course, the bombers, the Victors, ran the Nuremberg show trials. The bombees didn’t get a chance to say much, didn’t want to make a fuss, seeing how generous the Army of Occupation was with their coal, gasoline, clothing and food handouts. But I was there when it was safe to climb out of the meat locker, and immediately got put to work on the après les bombes clean-up. I was there doing the ***** work, a corpse miner, tasked with collecting the fried grasshopper remains of so many unlucky Krauts who were simply burned alive, like heretics at the Inquisition. So it goes.
William Tecumseh Sherman: “War is Hell, Babaloo!”
Colonel Kilgore: “You can either surf, or you can fight!”
Sam Bottoms: “I dropped a tab of acid at the Do-Long Bridge, so I think I’ll surf for awhile: ‘I see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.’ Reading Blake: for years it was the only way I could block out the war, that and losing myself in a bunch of undercover assignments. Yeah, it was William Blake, I-Spy and lots more acid; that how I dealt with PTSD.”
The Nam, Part II, LT DAN:  “Good job, trooper; those ******* drugs got you coming and going, sliding so fast you’ve missed latrine duty 3 times this month. Now go get 5 gallons of diesel fuel and gasoline, mix it together and torch that ******* feces, soldier.”
** Chi Minh:  “This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around.”
***** Friedman:   “The Democrats and Republicans are the same guy admiring himself in the mirror.”

Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak:   “Vote for Pedro.”
Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard:    “Fight Fiercely!”
Marshall McLuhan:    “I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t believed it.”
The Author:   I am a disaffected angry old man, formerly a disaffected angry young man; a Hopi-Italian Jew with Chinese offspring, namely my left-brained son, a mathematical genius but having a tough time dealing with idiots, the many truly stunod people in the world.  Then there’s my Rose, my sweet King Lear-jet daughter, like her half-brother, not yet finished paying for my sins. My offspring are haunted, visited upon daily by their father’s  ghosts, ghosts created, ghosts hovering over me, from wars hot and cold and peace lukewarm and cloudy, like the uranium ground contamination on the mesa, visited upon mothers and infants  and children who seek only a glass of cool water from the spring not to be glow worms in the dark, leukocytes made insane by something in the water. My sins, a father’s sins; things I did to curry favor, to ingratiate and advance myself with the 1%, things I did to get ahead in life, to get what I thought my father and others in the ancestral slipstream had failed to get, twice to the Rabbi for a get (Hebrew: גט‎, plural gittin גיטין), to get the edge my kids need now, the edge I never had, and life reduced to an exercise in ultimate combat, little more than a cage fight, man against man and God against all. The things I did for money and position shame me now. And shame is a large  source of my anger.  I will remain angry. I will hang on to my anger at God and myself and all who have been disappointed in me, by me, especially the cavalcade of short-term caretakers, women used, abused, left behind and forgotten. Why am I me? Sometimes I think that’s the way I’m programmed. But it’s okay, like Gaga: “I'm beautiful in my way 'Cause God makes no mistakes I'm on the right track, baby I was born this way' Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way and will I continue to surf the Cloud: even though God is dead and I don’t believe you, or me, or them.
Basic: remember Basic?

10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30   GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30  GOTO 10
10   A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 20
20   START STEP TWO ANGER KUBLER-ROSS INFINITE LOOP
30 A IS FOR ANGER NEXT 30
30  GOTO 10 Ad infinitum
I Am
Falling In Love
All Days
With
All of My Greatest Pray
Indonesia, 13th May 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
Daivik May 2021
Eid Mubarak
ईद मुबारक
عید مبارک ہو
Matt Geary Aug 2014
I.
I'm writing to tell you that I've spoken with your sister.

She tells me everything these days, though recently I've marked the way her voice conceals a quiet shame; rage in casual tones, and fear in quiet whispers.

I haven't kissed her in quite some time.
She's thinking of you.

II.
I'm sorry that I haven't written sooner. This fasting saps volition from my fingers, and the hot smell of ozone still lingers in the air.

But everywhere I see you on the news.

Has Ramadan been hard for you this year? I'm looking forward to hearing from you. I want to know that you are near once more. Please write.

III.
I saw an action flick today, and something of you in the way the heroine roared and flipped her hair just before letting a rocket fly.

I thought that I would die of suspense until the moment when the hero rose from the rubble to stand above his foes.

Crows circled. Credits rolled.

IV.
Thunder tolls. The atmosphere crackles and bursts. It's early yet, and not even my worst. My warring hands will never give you peace. An endless war-song issues from my lips.

You are not brave enough, dear girl, to resist destruction by my hand. The bomb blessed by my lips is indifferent, darling boy.

I will consume the gardens planted with your seeds.

V.
Bismillah, arrahman, arraheem.

VI.
Blessed is he who cries out for peace.
The Lord sees him and sees that he is good.

Blessed is she who dines before the sunrise and loses her life at noon, still clad in vestments of her childhood.

VII.
Eid Mubarak, and peace be with you every year. I've yet to hear from you.

I saw your sister again today. Whatever tinged her voice still holds her.

She said she hasn't written.

It matters who writes, so write a love-letter, I told her.

She's thinking of you.
Nisha Oct 2017
My father, he always has so much to say,
you know.
He loves weddings.
My daughter,
yes,
she’s always been so smart,
and we’re so proud of her.
He says it like he knows anything about me.

I nod and smile,
and shrink myself in front of the men.  
What is there to do but pretend?
No one needs to know about
the ways that you made me unlovable,
the way I spread my legs,
the way I strike a match.
We don’t talk about it.
It’s cultural values,
or something like that.

Look at the happy couple,
interchangeably
pharmacists, physicists, or physicians.
The groom smiles,
the bride does too,
they’re both so
good.

I sit there
and dream
of it.
A mandap, a
great big white horse.
I would be forcing it,
I knew,
but I wanted them to see me in red.

I wanted to walk
down that aisle alone,
and smile, demurely, smugly –
look what I did.
I got him,
I
wore him down.

I dream like it makes it redeemable,
the things that I’ve done.
How bad is the punishment
if I deviated with best intentions?

We hold onto these tiny ambitions,
the boy
the buffet line
and the bragging rights,
like it undoes the damage.
Ain Sep 2020
Khoobsoorti sadaf ki be misaal hoti hai....
Raaz hai uska jo chipa us mein ek moti hai.....

Sadaf ke do pat gar misaal e miya biwi hain...
Unki shadi ka rishta hi woh chipa moti hai...

Naazuk magar bohot woh baareek taar hota hai. ....
Jo us moti ko bana ke haar apne mein pirota hai...

Lamhe se lamha judta hai to ek zindagi banti hai...
Aur do zindagiyan milti hai to  ek shadi ki ladi banti hai...

Qadam se qadam milane mein khud ki pehchaan bhi khoti hai...
Alag se rang mein rangi phir shaksiyat dono ki nikharti hai....

Azwaji zindagi ke kuch apne masale bhi hote hain...
Kaanton se bhari raahon mein paththar bhi biche hote hain....

Zakhm in rahon par chal kar zaroor hasil hote hain...
Tab woh dono hi to ek duje ka marham hote hain...

17 saalon mein maine to bas itna hi seekha hai....
Hai woh kaamyaab rishta mohabbat se jisko seecha hai...

Sona chandi jis tarah ek aurat ko sajata hai...
Pyar o ehteraam waise hi rishte ko banata hai...

Wafa ka bhi to ek bohot ehm muqaam hota hai...
Qaayam uske dam pe hi to aitmaad hota hai....

Kuch aise hi to daqeeq yeh uroosi rishte hote hain....
Beinteha mohabbat se jinhe in jodon ne seechein hain...

25 o 50 salon ka yeh safar e taweel mubarak **. ..
Aapko yeh khoobsurat qaid e hayaat mubarak **. ..

Dua karti hain "Ain" laa zawal mausam e ulfat **....
Masrur rahe hayaat, har lamha pur rifaqat **...
KHORDAD SAAL MUBARAK

"Saal Mubarak" to You, o' Vakshure-e-Vakshuran;

Love I and rever You,  with my dil-o-jaan

From our entire "Kom" today, accept our "pranaam"

But  O' Zarathushtra, I cannot help worrying about our "anjaam".

Forgotten we have our duty real - our actual "karam".

Commercial progress today has become our false "shaan"

And because of this turn disastrous; I am  "heraan".

Bless us  O' pyara Paigambar; grant us faith as  "inaam"

Inspire us to  understand and follow Your  "paigaam"

So that become we, "a Din-Parast insaan."

Also  restore back our lost Zarthosti " aan baan shaan"

Armin Dutia Motashaw

Reduced has our faith n bothered we aren't about the "anjaam"
Hallucinate BoY Jun 2017
Eid Mubarak to all of my Poet friends. I love you more than my verses. May you live long with living peace.

Godspeed.
26/06/2017
DIWALI MUBARAK ** HAR EK KO

D.. Deep jalaye shraddha ka aaj;

I.. Iski jyot se, roshan kare sara samaaj; aur charo aur prem pasare.

W.. Wada kare, neki ki aur pyar ki rah pe chale, hardum.

A.. Aakar de ek aise jahan ko, jaha pyar hi pyar **, shraddha aur swabhimaan **.

L.. Lau sada jalti rahe har dil mein, shraddha, sacchai aur prem ki.

I..India ka, hamare desh ka, naam roshan kare, desh ka har baccha.

Tathastu.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
kainat rasheed Jun 2018
Eid
Eid mubarak around the world :-)
It is the last Tuesday of March in 2011
Two months ago, Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali
Prime minister of Tunisia, was forced into exile
Twenty three years is enough
He needs that time in Saudi Arabia

It does not feel like it has been two months
Because the world, right after that January
Has been shaken up

Egypt has since forced Hosni Mubarak
Their dictator of thirty years
Out of the country and onto the shores of the Red Sea

Democracy by will of the people
Popular uprising
A violent revolution perhaps
But yes, revolution in freedom, ideals
These countries will be different
For the better I hope

Now the people of Libya are up in arms
Crying and fighting for their freedom
And because there is so much oil in Libya
And because Gaddafi is letting his troops fire on civilians
The UN is sweating and threatening to take action

Aside from the awful earthquake in Japan
I blame the people of Tunisia for doing the right thing
29 3 2011 by Jonathan Barry Sullivan is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.facebook.com/ClayFox.
NAVROZE  MUBARAK TO ALL OF YOU

HERE COMES SPRING

Ah!! beautiful new leaves I see and a few buds too; spring is here !!!

Snow will soon start melting,  colourful flowers will bring in cheer !!!

When comes  JAMSHEDI NAVROZE, out come glasses of wine and beer;

Along side come,  Pullav- daar, patrani machchhi,  cutlets n kababs my dear

Wine, dine, dance n drama there will be all; meet will relatives from far n near !

Amidst these activities many,  will we have time to an Agiyari visit n pray; this I fear !!

Thank Ahura let us all, for the bounties granted n gear up for the coming year.

NAVROZE MUBARAK TO EVERY ZARTHOSTI ON THIS PLANET.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Khayr souf Jun 2019
Just like a wanderer
In the Sahara
We are stuck
With you as the only water.

And tho you come once a year
we still wish you never disappear
And even when the hush whispers of the stars
Invade the peaceful serene moment of the sky
The moon still shine up high
Even if it's for a little while
it still shows your beginning of blessings.

And now as you are leaving
And as the heart erupt from Joy of celebration,
The same heart squeezes for the soon separation.
Now we whisper in our hearts
May we live to see your next visit
And shout amongst our selves
Eid Mubarak
Aryan Sam Mar 2018
Mere kol ta sirf teriya
Yaadan ne.
Jindagi ta usnu mubarak howe
Kisde kol tu he
Wishing you dear Lord Zarthustra, a very happy birthday.

Accept my love, respect n prayers O Lord, today and everyday.

Here is a plea; O Lord to our help, please soon come.

For Ahura's sake, n ours; soon perform miracles some.

Faith unfortunately a backward seat taken has today.

Tenets, prayers n love for religion,  lost have, their way

Darkness prevails all around; throw Your divine light.

Please help us O Kind Lord, save us, show us the path right.

Accept our prayers sincere, as we wish you Saal Mubarak.

You Zarthustra, are our beacon of light, our guide, our "taarak'".

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Navroze brings in spring; which brings hope, inspiration, joy, colour and green.

Luscious fruits and flowers on hanging boughs, to each other smile and grin.

It's a relief to the Earth, after the torture of summer, autumn n winter it has been (through).

The Earth to adorn a beautiful garb of green with flowers n fruits is very keen.

Pray I, may the Earth remain green, very clean, peaceful and serene.

Navroze Mubarak to all the Nations who celebrate it.
May every human towards peace, lean.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
SAAL MUBARAK

Today, is a new bigining a new page.
It's a beautiful book with many a blank page.
Pour in I have to, my thoughts at every stage.
But before I do this, them I must gauge.
Help me to do this well, O my wise sage.

Fill it with colours vibrant n  brilliant on every sheet.
May my paintings, the shadows of darkness, outbeat.
Fill it with songs soulful, soothing n sweet.
Pour in I can, my feelings in ink; pouring every heart-beat.
May I be able to do all this n more, before I retreat.

Grow I wish to, lots  of flowers n green.
Help me, make this world look a little more clean.
O Ahura, can I please be an instrument, to make it serene.
I wish to make things better, then what they have been.
Help me O Mazda, to fulfill these dreams that I have seen.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
KHORDADSAL MUBARAK.

Geush Urvan, to Ahura, Her heart cried out loud.

Demons troubling Her were, together in a crowd.

When Ahura Her pain couldn't see any more;

Then was Asho Zarathushtra born, to protect Her core.

A beautiful spring day it was, on the sixth day of the year new.

Born was the wise Lord with a smile; as if everything He knew.

Mader Dughduva n Pedar Paurushasp  lucky were indeed;

Born unto them was Vakshr-e-Vakshuran, to evil ****.

Once again we desperately need Your blessings O Zarathushtra.

Help us please, await we eagerly, the Soshyant, O kind Mazda.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
LadyVictoria Jul 2015
That slight glimpse
enough to palpate hardly

That few words
enough to make the eyes smiling.

Happy Eid Mubarak
Self-rant loveletter lovenotes

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