"tigris" poems
Donald Trump was elected President of those United States,
He said to his household: Stay here awhile, I notice a fire..."
-Sheik Al Jilani
The people hate him, the nation opposes him,
Perhaps I shall bring you news of it."
-Sheik Al Jilani
Iraq is the world's second largest source of proven oil reserves...
Hold your tongue! You have no common sense! Your house on the river Tigris and yet you are dying of thirst?
-Sheik Al Jilani
just two steps from
everything
everything
O' seeker
hereafter
See,
-Me.
Two steps removed...
-right?
Coming home in a Baghdad Slater...bleary yet with sight. *
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 3:07 AM UTC
I’m walking up hilltop, two men pass, one says,
'Fuck the French, they never have the bottle for a fight’.
To have got here they passed the old Cathedral.
Did they glimpse it as a relic - exploded by incendiary,
ostracised in dubiety, seen fit to feature
only in the focus and snap of foreign tourists?
It is two days before Ramadan. Tonight Tornados
will tear between the Euphrates and Tigris
to illuminate Babylon... live on CNN.
At the top of the hill I pause,
staring at stained glass fragments
still suspended in the apex of frames
and view snacking office workers,
seated upon the benches that have replaced the pews.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
In the dunes, the dust raises a dirge
echoing in the nooks of Qardu:
prophet of the pasts, a ghoul
who led an arc on to the mountain
singed by the daystar where now,
men cut their hands to quench infant-thirsts.
And outraged women wail into the nights.
All for this? All for this? The anguished
song in the valley in an archaic tongue
that the Spirit stands surveying
that called out a fire off a bush, leading
a nation out of wilderness. Now, who
delight in murdering children.
The emperor of the world, is busy playing ball
offering the slaughtered heads to Quetzalcoatl,
and a beating heart plucked out
of a terrified infidel does not move him
as much as the stench of oil. Black
is the song of despair whispering in the smoke
blighting the reign of K'inich Ajaw,
all for this, Marya, all for this?
And the chief of Angles is dismayed, the
spoils of crusades blow back as young men
disappear from your homes, emerging
as butchers in black baying for slaughter,
journeying to the worlds end with
Gilgamesh along the Tigris.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
Take this metal car and plane
And give me a camel or a horse
Take these four walls
I want to trade them
In for a tent
I will pitch it at the bottom of the Mountains
On the banks of Barada
That runs through Damascus
Or the shores of Tigris
That binds Turkey and Iraq
In the suburbs of Amman
Amongst the unique contrast
Of old and new
Or the deserts of Arabia
The unknown regions of Yemen
Maybe on the slopes of the pyramids
In the oasis of Libya
The valleys of Kashmir
On the beaches of Zanzibar
I'll trade in the can of pop
For coconut water
Or thirst quenching
Organic blends of fruit juice
That I will hand pick
Straight from the trees
Sleep to the lullaby
Of rain and birds
In a tree house
In Kuala Lumpur
Awake to the
**** a doodle doo
Of a rooster
In Bangladesh
Then go and collect
The eggs from the hens
I'll trade these windows
For a panoramic view
Technology and social networks
For loyalty and love
Go back to simple living
Be friends with the earth
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
"O GOD ! only hand--- only leg
bleeding, hanging to the chopped body --o god !?!"
enough ! to discharge the debt of the soil.
"o god!
these little babies who are supposed to be the metaphor of passion,
are forced to be the product of flesh trade !
these tender hands , supposed to paint the alphabets
are made to clean the riffles !
o god !
they are eating mud--
they are drinking the ***** of animals...."
yes! the survival is important
to break the shackles of this soil.
"O GOD ! O GOD ! O GOD ! O G>>"
no !. no!. sympathy? charity ? i am not the beggar !
do not come on the wings of eagle holding the dove.
if you have a human soul..
demand those who are shedding crocodile tears.
i demand the answer , not the bread of consolation.
do the sons of my soil robbed these big-brothers at any time?
tell them not to declare the renegades as the protectors of my land.
**** **** ***** **** **** **** ****
tigris and euphrates, ganga and godavari
amazan, dandakaranya
somalia, rhodesia---- red with blood
santiyago, madrid, -- echoing
tahir square, beijing, brasilia... burning--
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
i may be falling down-- but i will rise ...
o big brother... you are not god
you can declare yourself as jesus
i am the child of spartucus
"o god ! are you a terrorist? are you a revolutionary?"
ha ha ha--- let it be.
now , the deserts having oil in lap
the forests having minerals in heart
the voices demanding the natural justice
are these the shelters of terrorists.. revolutionaries ?
let it be!
i am a revolutionary........
to discharge the debt of my soil !!
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
The cicada husk of the crescent moon sheds in cyclides light,
Molted whispers of life, spread like perfume behind the ear,
Or like silver earrings unadorned and scattered around the night-lit table.
Here too, the garden gown of Babylon lies heaped in soiled ruin,
Beaten down to sand at the foot of the bed of the Tigris and Euphrates.
Though the dunes are its aerial, root-bound springs,
Though the underground nymphs tend with cicala wings,
And underspurt of incessant summer song to lure
The resurrection rose of Jericho to bud once more,
In desert-faith for the hanging garden of a full moon.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
[Click]
…
*"Welcome back to Story Hour on PBS. Today we have a very special guest, who’s going to read us a very special story. Do you kids know anything about Greek Mythology? No? Well, you’re gonna learn some today. Everyone… say “Hello” to Bill."
“Hiiii Billlll”
“Now, children… he can’t hear you…”
“HIIII BILLL–”*
Hear the voice of the Bard!
Who Present, Past, & Future sees;
I am the Dean
of Cosmic Beans
That grow to poetrees
Then every man will ever clime
to he that sits upon
atop this rhyme
this mythic vine
Dwells the giant Albion
The giant of the sees,
his jealousea and fierce
bid him to seize
an Odyssey
assisted by a Circe
Circe, in play, did then, inturn
the shipsmen of his Highness
and with a Feast
did tern to beasts
not one of them a tygress
As Circe distracted with the beasts
Did Albion then turn
He stole the Fleece
from Circe’s niece
and left it to the terns
The terns, in turn, interned at sea
did little to digress
flew fleece of ram
into the hands
of swift and mighty Tigris
From Milton’s tale of sim’lar tree
that of Eve and Adam
With fearful sea
and symmetree
The Tyger ate The Lamb
*“The Tiger ate the Lamb?”
(crying)*
[Click]
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 6:04 PM UTC
Imagine a world.
What do you see?
Do you see a place of paradise?
Do you see the rivers?
Tigris and Euphrates?
A place where all is bountiful,
And the sun forever shines
And darkness is forever lost.
Or do you see a world drenched in fire?
Overcome with the emotional grief
Of the death of it’s natural resources,
Of echoes coming down the corridors,
Starved bodies lying on the floor,
And villains run amuck?
A long time ago, a man wrote about a Lady and a Tiger.
His mission is mine.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
*Ash forests, Tigris and Euphrates meet
Pistachio scent slithers through my nose
He was no saint.
He feeds me forbidden fruit from Eden
Touches my face with his fingers
The warmth burns me inside like inferno
"Hell," he says, "does not exist"
And calls me his Heaven.*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
though they are whispering,
and my hearing muted by the years
and the cluttered clang of today,
their voices sift softly through the trees,
a ghost chorus, chanting
late songs from the killing grounds,
wafting warily around the trunks
on the backs of bent breezes
their names come like seeds
in the hopeful spring rains
as if they yearn to be born again
but the earth does not bring forth
their lost and longing faces
new names take their places
not in the choking jungle canopies
among the rubber trees, the bamboo,
the Mekong’s murky, mournful flow
where I last heard their plaintive pleas
drowned by the roar of chopper blades,
and my own metal screaming
but now in the desert, under
the Tigris’ and Euphrates’
unforgiving suns
still, I hear them, a labored litany
through the trees
yet asking to return
to sit with me, as the sun sets
white, on my gray eyes
and new voices silence
their wraithlike song
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
I.
Wild fevered summer cat
crouched in night forest
leaf-rustle, ear-swivel
golden eye-gleam, nostril flare
smell trail, chase drumming
hot blood of jugular pulse on tongue
II.
Barest winter, bones spare
as naked trees knock
hungry ghost at door
I crouch, invite you in (“I am not yours”)
eyes warn, my sofa, my fire
recline like buddha, one golden orb
fixed on me
III.
*Cat-mind drifts back
ten thousand years
desert goes for days
sun-blaze on fur, sandpaper tongue
drink from Tigris, cool forgiving
Mate with five heated slit-eyed beauties
consider symbiosis, my ancestors
pile grain into a barn too slow to catch mice
while naked two-legged kittens
play with your children.
Humans will worship yet bury you alive—
our dead won’t be lonely
The mice in the barn will find
Master of Night
that no death nor game is too cruel for you*
IV.
Now, fates joined
after your hunt, before mine
yawn and blink at the sun
bury my face in electric fur
you drape a lazy velvet paw
over me purrs reverberate
All is right in this universal chase
sun-selves, shadow-selves
predator and prey
for life love
and death
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
I cant sleep,
I'm afraid that I might dream..
For most,
dreaming's common, some even have themes,
Some even foresee the future, some even have schemes,
Some have a plot and ****** even opening scenes,
Some even might get frisky, have you opening jeans..
but my dreams differ.
my dreams, are dreams, of the Tigris river.
my dreams, are visions of an old poor giver.
Old, forgiver.
walking along the side of the Euphrates with Hades,
go figure.
my dreams differ.
at times i hear the angels in the heavens as they bicker.
At times i see the time of my own death on a ticker.
click click....
I always try to slow it down. Its become a regular thing..
But the Fates are constantly pulling my string.
using it as a guitar, Such a harmonious scene.
Especially for a man, not destined to dream.
My mind wonders, but more so it wanders,
Its plausible that lack of sleep will be my demise...
But till that day comes, i'll continue to daydream, because my only nightmare is closing my eyes...
-afj
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
She could have been a Mediterannean goddess;
An enamoured artist’s ethereal muse.
Golden tendrils meandeared across her visage ;
Her eyes greener than absinth , darker than the Black sea.
She was a daughter of the Tigris.
That burning serpent,
churning the blood of her brothers.
Infidel! devil-worshipper! they called her,
As they, burnt and ravaged all that she lived for.
The moon turned a shade of ochre, like it was made out of dust.
Of the brown ashes of Sinjar . Her vanquished motherland, that fallen paradise.
She prayed and prayed, to the Peacock angel;
with eyes closed, and a heart clutched in terror.
So he would spread his wings and save her.
But when she opened her eyes, the Da’esh loomed like death,
All around her, like vultures;
who wouldn’t spare the last shred of flesh on her bones.
They had scavenged her like a piece of trinket,
From the great pile of rubble, her land was reduced to.
She was their spoils from the war,
Her golden hair, her green eyes ; all theirs.
Their ravenous eyes like augers; spewing venom,
They were traffickers of the soul, to the most unholy depths of the inferno.
She was meant to be a goddess;
To rise to the realm of the Peacock angel.
If he did’nt release her soul, her spirit would rise to meet him .
She only smiled, when she took her life.
She smiled, till her last breath seeped out of her,
Death was ever so merciful, tenderly lulling her to sleep.
The Da’esh could plunder to all their dark glory.
But they could’nt fetter her soul.
Jilan, she was the fallen angel.
29/12/2014
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
Contrary to popular belief,
we have found WMDs in Iraq,
whose Tigris and Euphrates rivers
once flowed into the Garden of Eden.
But true to popular belief,
these WMDs were not weapons
of mass destruction, in the usual
meaning of that phrase,
They turned out to be wars
of mutual destruction, fueled
by fear and anger against
the most vulnerable within our reach
It matters not that good
intentions guided bombs
and tanks to destroy the
land and lives of innocents
To a man who buried his
family in the smoking ashes
of his ancestral home, or that
vengeful reprisals have no
Other cause, to a mother who
sheds tears upon her favorite
photo of her dead son, whose
body has come home
But whose blood was spilled
into the Tigris and Euphrates
And it matters not
that treasures spent
in futile efforts to fix
what through unfounded
Belief was broken,
by laying siege to
vanquished tribes
to form a nation
Foreign to their own.
And though livelihoods
and communities have
been drained of hope
And promise at home,
there is no end in sight
for wars still fueled by
fear and anger against
The most vulnerable
within our reach.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
Why, oh my father?
Why, oh my friend?
Shall I cast my flesh into the lake of fire...
Why, oh my brother?
Why, oh my mother?
Shall my soul be so tied unto such desire...
Somewhere deep is the heart of David...
Somewhere near is the lust of the flesh...
You, creator, shall you harden my heart?
What misfortune of Pharaoh shall burn...
I pray and pine in time of dismay,
And when the plague dissolves - I return
Shall I wash in the Tigris, merely once?
For these spots will not vanish from me...
Whilst my ears cease to hear silence,
And my eyes, too open to see?
When shall you send your hand out,
To strike fear of the almighty upon the wall
So shake my very soul within the flesh
To tenderly call me lest I fall...
Commence the finale, mark as the Alpha
Thus by Omega, unto which shall end?
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC
I live on another plane
Fulfilled my wishes,
In merlot dreams
I come from dark valleys
from sad, dead bushes
from dried-up streams
Avoiding the night cops
I stick to alleys and bus stops
I'm on an unspoken trek
Ears filled with whispers
Damning the dead sister
Angels skipped her train wreck
In the distance I can see
A dark, stone mansion
Moments before dawn
Lovers past
Hand-in-hand they cast
Themselves to the sea
The dark mansion is too far
For my tired disease
My lips quiver
Recalling the Tigris River
And the ritual char
I wake from a haunting dream
Naked, wet and cold
I did not
Wait for the rot
Some bodies float upstream
I stand at the iron gate
of the ancient mansion
Locked without
I kick, curse and shout
I'm missing a key trait
Moments before dawn
A strange body
Cloaked in filth
floats above me,
'You are too late to enter
Go wander!'
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
They say when tough times come your way you gotta push harder
Be stronger
Move faster to live longer
But sometimes the fight itself, it just ain't worth fighting
And you gotta let it take you, kicking and biting
And when that same time comes around again, you give it your all
Build yourself back up where before you let yourself fall
Because
What it does
The pain isn't enough
But the success is two times greater when you pick yourself up
Satisfaction from hard work, blood and sweat on my hands
Put it in to position maybe you can understand
That although it tears and hurts to distance myself
During this time we can rebuild, helping ourselves
And you know who you are I don't need to say it
If your emotions were a game, then I swear I played it
And the whole situation ***** because I knew all along
But I gotta push past it, move faster just to stay strong
So I aint getting hooked, I'm just letting you know
It ain't solely one's fault but each to their own
But I guess that's okay, I'll build myself up again
See you when I'm done here,
Sincerely, Tigris
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
For you they rode a thousand mile
Across the Tigris, and the Nile
They fought till death,
Their horses fled
Under the hooves- the water rile
For you she made the desperate choice
As she ignored her inner voice
One sunny day,
She walked away,
Quite silently- without a noise
For you he counts his passing days
And tries to figure the different ways
How a guilty plea,
Will be his key,
To escape from this obnoxious mess
For you I overlook the spies
Ever-so-carelessly roll the dice
This game ends,
No more pretence,
For you, are none, but promised lies!
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
Babylons eroded
Mesopotamia flooded.
Egypt dried
And America polluted.
Murderers and heroes.
Gods are liars
Man tell the best stories
Women dream reality
UFOs are from Earth
Life is Hell.
You are becoming the last person alive to have a pulse and not a cellphone charger.
You are the last voice I heard ever and the one I only needed.
Time are pieces of papers before fire.
And I use matches to unlock doors and free myself of guilt.
I cannot control floods or the turning of the earth.
I can only speak for fires sake.
I can only speak for tomorrow, if I gain a spark for today.
We can burn it all down
And kick the sand in the deserts around the Nile.
Or banish Gods
And scorn men.
And let women dream.
You can live in Babylon or live back between the Tigris and Euphrates.
Or drink from America's murk.
But we are looking at these keys blazing.
And never looking back, dropping them in doorways.
To ash our cigarettes in the rubble of yesterdays pain.
Together.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 9:57 AM UTC
poor tiger
allowing the
fickle whims of life
usurp her grandeur
going with the flow
not going with her fire
allowing the pressure of
the everyday
drive her
further and further
from what God intended her to be
she sees her stripes
her coat majestic
the beat of her heart
her eyes electric
she
now
sees
what
she was
meant to be
she... is me.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC