"salman" poems
So apparently today is National Compliments Day.
I'd like to compliment Maha Salman.
She is a genuinely caring soul and has such a loving heart and an understanding personality.
Maha, thank you for being such a kind person and listening to me despite my extreme negativity. Thank you for talking me out of starving myself again, and being so compassionate. You mean a lot to me as a fellow poet and person. You are a beautiful friend :)
p.s. ur poetry is amaaazing
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
You lived alone in the solititude
Of pure hundred years in Colombia
Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue
Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag
On your poverty written Colombian back,
Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera,
On none other than your bitter-sweet memories
Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro,
Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life
In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014,
Only to succumb to untimely black death
That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor;
Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard,
You were to write to the colonel for your life,
Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked
For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed,
Come back from death, you dear Marquez
To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism,
From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land
An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre
Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough,
For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories,
I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo,
But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia,
Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo
On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art,
When coming to America to look for your culture
That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen,
Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them
Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Some people write, but rarely read,
That seems to me most strange indeed,
They've read less than a hundred books,
Yet think they imitate the looks,
Of Sassoon, Cummings, Keats and Pound,
Or think they imitate the sound,
Of Lennon, Dylan, or Shakur,
And sometimes think they've offered more,
Than Chaucer, Wilde or Shakespeare could,
And claim they're more misunderstood,
Than even Salman Rushdie was,
Which really ticks me off because,
After having read such wondrous works,
A sense of failure always lurks,
Inside me whenever I write,
Yet they think they've done well tonight!
I hate them all! That's it - I've said it!
But they won't know until they've read it,
Which is quite doubtful, I'd attest,
Who'd read my work and skip the best?
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
. *and today's prime concern of the day? i can't access the recipe site for Australia's master-chef... maybe it's Australia, and their restrictions, or it's the ******* E.U... but... come to mind... last year i could access Eliza's triple-fried tamarind chicken... my god! they're going after restricting access to food recipes!*
could i ever think any woman as being, "ugly",
neglected, yes,
but... "ugly"?
please...
all manner of things become beautiful
around the mandible zenith upon
the grinding wheel of the big O...
nothing quiet like deathly screaming
in the hollow of the night,
but some drunkard loser -
speaking in tongues and recollecting
a myth of a patriarch
akin to Abraham...
'it's just the moon, you shit-face!'
'yeah, and my grandmother sees
a Herr Tvardovsky in it from
time to time, riding a ******* cockerel!'
which equates to a banality of
two things (well, three):
1. she shouldn't have been given
opiates during WWII to shut
the **** up, as a baby, so my great-grandparents
could hide in the Polish countryside,
i.e war zone....
2. i shouldn't be drinking and reading
religious text /
listening to Finnish folk songs...
3. about that Hollywood thing...
how movies are getting ******** and
******** by the day...
see... in philosophy there's this point,
not a Hegelian dialectic crap,
a Kantian coordinate,
a starting point,
zee: res per se...
a thing in itself...
blah blah... noumenon...
i hardly think t.v. shows will reach this
level of "self-consciousness"...
i.e. will be making t.v. shows about
making t.v. shows...
English soap opera tide barrier...
but movies have certainly turned
to focus on this, "vantage" point...
the disaster artist for starters...
birdman?
eh...
and like any cascade of falling
down from an airplane akin
to the opening image from
Salman Rushdie's the satanic verse...
mighty fine looking up
and cackling while flapping your hands
in imitation of a Canadian goose.
ha ha ha... ah... **** never gets old.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
sweat drips down my face,
the floor swims beneath me
and smoke ribbons out of my mouth and nose.
mid-summer in an Arabic bar
with some ******* touching the dancer all over
and saying ******* over and over again.
he stares at her hips.
the mirror is on one side of me,
and one half of a pair of speakers is beside
my ear.
it's gigantic.
it blares music that my friend tells
me is from some new Bollywood movie.
two hands grab mine and i'm up.
one link in a circle, dancing a
Middle-Eastern two-step that's only slightly
familiar.
faces come in and out of my line of sight.
i recognize none
and feel as if i'm in a Salman Rushdie novel.
maybe i'm Haroun, in a new place with a blue genie
saving a sea of stories, a princess, a land, and my father.
but then again, maybe not.
i would never save my father.
i spin, spin, spin
until i can't see straight.
i wake the next morning on the belly
dancers couch.
my friends are having coffee with her
and discussing whether or not to
take me to the hospital.
Nadia found some blow in my pocket
and flushed it down the toilet.
she found *** in the other and put it back.
they had decided to let me sleep
and from then on call me "American Dream."
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Saudia Arabia
Protectors of the Islamic Faith
Is kingdom that’s not safe
Whose behavior makes one chafe
Under MBS it’s anybody’s guess
Who’ll be killed or at best
Locked away in a hotel
Until their wrists and ankles swell
Although the evidence is murky
In a motion that was jerky
At their embassy in Turkey
They killed Jamal Kashoggi
Before he could light a stogie
And chopped his body up
So as not to interrupt
Their plot to cover-up
How about the war in Yemen
That has no predictable ending
Seems to have ‘em hemmed in
And what they cannot hide
Is that it’s clearly genocide
Which the US is complicit in
In the name of King Salman
Look at the weapons that we send
What we can’t ignore
Are their actions we abhor
Which they must answer for
Or is it business as usuall?
Because of our refusal
To make them conform
To accepted norms
Which should set off alarms
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
The Creep that loved you
Dani Chase
Jinxxed For Life
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ
Ena Alysopriono
Unknown guy
Rex Forté
Jimmydon
Janine
LeeAnn Rose
Musfiq us shaleheen
Elle Tat
maha salman
Concrete Angel
Carolin
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Death is living
Ally
the helper
patty m
Yung Wifey
Gabrielle Cox
Heart Broken
Kayla-Lyn Searle
Dark Rose
Jason Cirkovic
Midnight Writer
LittleFreeBird
Richard Barnes
Trisha Anne Chi-Young
Thinking Out Loud
AD Mullin
Devon Webb
Hannah Jade
Deborah Brooks Langford
Winter Frost
Jeremy Boyd
Starry Night
caitlyn walters
elsa angelica
Sarah M Gillihan
Sweetheart
Andre nalin
DC raw love
Charbear909
Thomas A Robinson
chainedwhore
PerfectTruths
Worldeater
John-Chris Ward
Ember Evanescent
Kitty Lam
LJ Chaplin
Just Melz
Jae
Just Jean
The Girl Who Loved You
Vanessa Gatley
StayStrongILveU
tamyon lawrence
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Comes to pass my picture of the Middle East
(one minute and twenty one seconds of television news,
much less than I had thought)
is an inaccurate representation of people
and the individuality of their experience.
How does one measure the merit of
I am offended?
If all I know are snapshots, misdirecting
the issue, changing path to digest murdered cartoonists
killed with Allah in mind
(another misdirection)
and I am not outraged.
Sadness manifests as thick fog
blocking artificial light, splitting the rays,
opening up and flexing, the truth as is,
the sole truth we must attain;
we are slow, dying creatures.
Inborn freedoms dissolve.
Did Salman Rushdie beg forgiveness for
images of his head book-ending a spear,
or did he die a little in secret?
Suppose I am a rouser marching the streets of
New York City, a gold pendant of two
falling towers adorning
my chest-cave, Je Suis etched into my forehead
(black felt-tip).
Do you defend me?
Relish in your torment of words?
Will you bury the fire in your belly
for sake of freedom?
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
She is the one who will listen to what you need
Her desires, in the future we will need
You don't seem to understand
She writes poems, they come out of her hand
Her eyes are the mysterious ones
Different colors, so many, TONS
She will hear you out to the very end
That's why Maha is one of my friends
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
There was a time
When I used to be proud
Of being an Indian
However, that feels like light years ago
Since then, so many things have changed
That I wonder sometimes
If this is indeed the same country
Where I was conceived
Imagine surviving a plane crash
Only to have your face charred in such a way
That it resembles a piece of barbequed meat
And thus even your own mother fails to recognise you
That is the India of today
A democracy only in name
Where the gap between the rich and the poor
Is even wider than the river Nile
The way in which the so-called upper castes
Treat the so-called lower castes
Is even worse
Than the way in which the Nazis used to treat the Jews
Nearly a century ago
Not to mention, to insult a cow
Is considered nothing short of ******
However, harassing a woman
Especially a woman from one of the underprivileged sections of society
Is treated, in the manner in which a simple traffic violation is dealt with
That is, all you have to do; is pay a fine
And you are free to go about doing whatever you were doing
Including harassing more women
Then we come to the small matter of mental health
If you are undergoing therapy or counselling
Or if you are meeting a psychiatrist
As you pass people on the way
You might hear a lot of whispers and murmurs
Making it sound as though you were dying
Or worse, on the verge of insanity
Therefore, whenever you air your views publicly
The chances of people taking you seriously
Are even less than that of Netherlands winning this year's Men's Cricket World Cup!!
It may have been seventy-six years
Since we gained independence
However, the reality is
We are as much independent
As Salman Khan knows how to drive a car
Without killing people in the process
As I mentioned earlier, I used to be a patriot
However, when I think of India now
I feel a remarkably similar kind of shame
That I used to experience during my Engineering days
Whenever I failed in a subject
After all, when your country's international image
Takes precedence over the living conditions of your people
Then it is only a matter of time
Before you are headed down the path of the Nazis
Yes, I am an Indian
And difficult as it sounds to believe, I used to love my country
However, my love for its people
Exceeds that by thousands of miles
Sep 22, 2023
Sep 22, 2023 at 1:24 PM UTC
On this cold November night
Salman Rushdie shook my hand.
An irate Ayatollah had
pronounced a fatwa on the
man
He seemed at peace, this hirsute fellow.
in his bespoke suit from Savile Row.
He signed some copies of his book
then his security man said he must go..
The lecture hall had been half full.
Perhaps some had been scared away.
I had come to hear him speak.
Freedom of speech must rule the day.
Outside Colden in the dark
an amphitheater is tucked away
A stage sunk in a bowl of grass
where Greek tragedies might be played.
Which tradition shall prevail?
I wondered to myself that day.
Will acolytes of a murderous cult
Sweep Euripides away?
A Moslem horde poured through the gates
when Rome fell for the second time.
The Divine Wisdom was defiled
and Constantine Palaeologus died.
I turn my collar against the damp
illumined by sodium vapor light
I think on Arnold's loss of faith
and ignorant armies that struggle in the
night
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Intrepid gadfly;
the voice of dissent.
Multiple times stricken,
multiple times resolved.
Though he bleeds,
still the pen that chides never bleeds,
nor is it obliterated.
For three decades and four,
death he evaded,
still, multiple times stricken,
evasive he remains.
Aug 19, 2022
Aug 19, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Interrogated, tortured,
Then killed
Just the way
The Saudi Prince had willed
An oppositional voice
Finally stilled
On Turkish soil
His blood was spilled
The Turks have
A surveillance tape
That would leave
Your mouth agape
The Saudi reporter
Could not escape
A sicker equivalent
Of date ****
Prince Muhammad bin Salman
Hatched the plot
So ask yourself
What have we got
How can anyone
Befriend that snot?
While the bonesaw they used
Is still hot
Nine-Eleven involved
Nineteen of them
They’re the **** of the earth
Or the phlegm
We spit out our mouths
When we can
They’re worst than
The Ku Klux ****
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC
Lies are a literary
maize, a jigsaw
puzzle of mixed
metaphors, innuendo's
and above all, veiled
secrecy, of which, can
only be deciphered, by
professional prevaricators.
Whereas, veracity has no
such hurdles to negotiate,
providing, that is, blatancy
is not white, because there,
lieth the mountain, beneath
beneath a blanket of snow.
^
/ \
/ \
/ \
/ \
/ Mt. \
/ Bin Salman\
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
Salman Rushdie when ask decades ago
Why would you want to America zoom?
His wonderful answer:
awop bobba loo bop
a *** bam boom.
Alas, today,
the White House a corrupt sepulcher
America’s whitewashed Tomb.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC
She wasn't talking about her hair
When she cut dead ends to grow
One cut two cuts you never stare
She gives bleeding care that you throw
You give her a dark box full of blades
And the blood flows perfect like wine
With pain her heart draws love shades
To hide the anguish crimson line
By time the dark box became a gift
She's ready to collect her new scars
She blooms daily to take your shift
"Give me the box to give you the stars"
∴ Lyna Salman
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 6:57 PM UTC
The allure skies began to tremble
Before the horrible Bomb Dome
Beirut weared a wide black mantle
With moaning wounds in each home
As pigeons of peace died at duty
Beirut my ravishing moribund city
Revered for its destroyed beauty
The sky quivered in bustling pity
Ah, August 4 engraved in history
With mushroom clouds of doom
A massacre a monstrous blistery
Staining blood agony in every room
Steeling from many the innocent life
Yet the rest narrowly escaping death
Are actually dead suffering being alive
Are sorrowly alive in a poisoned breath
Victims chewed by the evil fallout
The epitaph can not return any life
Children cowered with a heavy shout
Hearts cringed as stabbed by knife
So many politicians and scientists
Enslaved to produce a conclusion
We do not need to see their tests
Their deterrence and bribed delusion
Anyone who made lives end
Is Satan, a monster, a real devil...
Nations say weapons are to defend
No! They only permeat their evil
∴ Lyna Salman
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
The Universe will not break you
It rubs sweven pain to wake you
For I'm a solivagant in my latibule
Hugging my demons in irenic rule
Humans flash in multi-phosphenes
Supernovas blending into scenes
Fighting until they are consumed
The end is stardust as assumed
Dividing the Ge Earth into stakes
And all is only you that it takes
Strangling their orenda in dismay
Then departing in the Milky Way
∴ Lyna Salman
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
Nah!
Emma not Salman Khan
Making my quarantine
Valentines in house
Coz
No farmhouse to have
Jacqueline in
Okay !
Don’t wanna make it
That’s not my fate
To be in date
Always
But I am like a garbage bins
Without my kiths and kins
Where are the moments ?
Watching movies and getting hyped
Happy in coca-cola or wine
But now it’s 55th days
Hadn’t seen their faces
So now I am messaging god
to pull off from this grave
By your grace
This glitch is enough
we learned how to live
Forgive us
We are in your need !
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 12:10 PM UTC
(When reading this poem, it's fitting to pronounce 'Salman' using the Arabic pronunciation.)
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Tellin' Gaza I understand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Fighting by taking a stand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, tellin' Gaza we understand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, fighting by taking a stand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
An Athan telling the world, we must take command
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Prepping us for prayer, prayer/a daily ritual, which is supposed to help us to assert, Oppressors we're not a fan
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, tellin' Gaza I understand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, fighting by taking a stand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Tellin' Gaza we understand
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
Announcing 'God is Greater than', 'God is more Important than', 'God is more Significant than', 'God is more Powerful than' Trump's and Netanyahu's clan
Salman, Kibbutz Blinken's Athan Man
With his Athan, insisting, Palestine, take my hand
By: Najwa Kareem
https://www.instagram.com/omarknowsphotos/reel/C5fGcRvta2J/
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 7:39 PM UTC
Drink where the horses drink
Horses know the good spring
Place your bed where cats sleep
Cats roll where serenity is deep
Plant your tree where moles dig
Where it's fertile for your sprig
Dig for water where birds hide
Singing streams you shall find
Woods are home not a place
Caressing our hearts in solace
Through valleys take a stroll
Loose your mind find your soul
Hold the sky hug every creature
Nature remains the best teacher
∴ Lyna Salman
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 7:07 PM UTC