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Showing posts from 2010

On the Veranda

Rainbow clouds bathing under glamorous sunbeams, Brisk of wind coating the shoulders as if a cold shawl, Not paintings nor photos depicting a majestic scenery, The body reacts with numerous involuntary shivers, The colourful flowers, which were once petite buds, Falling off bit by bit from this veranda; one-two-three, It is the autumn’s destiny; an involuntary phenomenon, Water was not scarce nor the glowing rays of the sun, Not a lifecycle, but just descendents of one another, Beings living a life similar to that of ours with ancestors, Then comes the wind, blowing, picking those in need, And I stand up and walk through the opened windows, Seeking warmth and the mobile phone rings: “hello!” Saturday, 18th of December 2010

Frozen Flesh

N-no, stay, why, stop it, oh stop it, s-stop weeping, I feel cold, I am so afraid, I cannot, oh I cannot cry, Nor can I shiver and remove these hazy emotions, Alone in the dark with mud's the only companion, No, my doings, the good and the bad, all of them, I lie still, still as a statue, pausing, I am still alive, Hearing the people's footsteps leaving me behind, I am alive, but I need to catch a deep last breath. Waiting, waiting, and w- Frozen flesh N-no, not yet, I am not, no, please I am not ready, He is taking me, guys, come back, don- leave me, I am gone, but give me a second, back, back I want, It hurts, n-no, I mean y-yes, I am gone yet a-alive, This is the proof, why, take it, that is the evidence, Nooo! Stop talking, stop it, yes I did, but because-, Guys, look at me, touch my flesh, hear my screams, If only you knew, still, what would you have done? Thursday, 28th of October 2010

Mani Yunke-lo

Micastu sumanitu taka, Na wiyakapi leciya naju oskapa, Miwicasa, mioyate, Mihelti aka mimakoce, Hehatu wakpa, Kici tawicu na ciksi, Na istime mahel wicoti ocoze. Micastu nahahci sumanitu taka, Na wiyakapi ile, Miwicasa nahahci, mioyate, Wana miakicita, Le nahahci mimakoce, Hehatu wakpa, Mahel wicoti isna la. Maoyuspe wahin kpe, Maza su micante papala ape, Miwe caku zugzuka, Tka nahahci naji wakatu ya na haske, Ska tatanka ihakab miye, Na le okicize mikicizapi, Mihukapi, mikicopi. Malakota! Monday, 26th of April 2010

The Bottled Letter

Stretching out on the golden diminutive granules, Opening the eyes resisting the sun's blazing beam, Barefoot and toes dancing through the cold breeze, Holding a 'bottled letter' on the right hand; relaxing. Dozing then waking from a toddler's joyous laugh, Sitting up still grasping the poorly shaped letter, Finding it rather attractive but it spoke of tomorrow, Days of reconciliation from the bitter yesterday. The author named "I"; the date not far from today, From an indefinite location but a language I speak, Written from right-to-left starting with اللهم لك الحمد, Saddened by the beauty of tears, yet, optimistic. "I" spoke of the ancestral origins of the humans, Of the morals and values shared by the individuals, Of the pin-pointed differences referred by organs, And of the true path sought for a better tomorrow. There the calligraphy ended before a tiny full-stop, Folding the 'bottled letter' in halves and once again

A Leaf

Once upon An autumn leaf Dry and brown A story told Through the dance Left and right Kissed the ground Stroked the sand A tongue to speak Language of Sad and fear I can hear Loud and clear. And I am once Born to preach Language of Peace and love Draw and paint A thousand words Feel my lips Move apart Hear my heart Cry for just But sure you know The world you're in Is but a show That has an end A happy one. So hear me say One more time A story told A thousand words Be sincere Persevere And you will be A charming leaf Red and green Full of life Peace and love Once upon A Saturday. Saturday, 24th of July 2010

Blessed are We

There is a time when the heavy rain, Declines to face the atrocious sand, And emerges on the horizon at dawn, To fall from the sky above so high, Onto the bricks and gates of a castle. But deep down in his warm heart, He wants to guide those who are lost, He then cries out loud then he sighs, And then the moon escapes the clouds, Shining the light on the forlorn souls. To be a part of this enormous castle, To embed within its protective walls, To evaporate into the clouds up high, To become yet another heavy rain, To drench tears from the souls of sands. Tuesday, 08th of June 2010

Souls to Cure

The wolf cries towards the advancing monsoon, You saw his mystical and formless silhouette, Saddened by speechless dawns and sunsets, Howling endlessly for a believer's approach, Finding a cursed contour of a leafless tree, Digging its roots through the glowing graves, Igniting little fragments of a yearned soul, Generating diamonds held in a safety vault. Saturday, 22nd of May 2010

Dead or Alive?

What have I done? And damned this mentality, Back then, a hell's curse poured out of my hands, I promised to drop her off at the nearest park, Father is wonderful or that is what she thought, Until I excavated my entire soul and buried hers', Crying silently with a faint but noticeable smile, Rubbing the grains of sand off my chin and nose, While hers I add and add and add and add and, She never rose and screamed for a passerby's help, But accepted her fate and this short life of hers, What have I done? And damned this mentality, I now grieve the day I erased her from this life, It matters not if these cursed hands burn in hell, I cannot bring her back to life to smile once more, Replenishing my soul with the book of guidance, Re-establishing the state of my mind and soul, Seeking grace and mercy from the only One, Guide me, love me, and forgive all of my sins. Thursday, 13th of May 2010

A Cry From Hell

Written by Candle of Hope, 17-07-2003 Website: http://candle-of-hope.com/ A cry from hell woke me up at night, Something gripped my heart so tight, The cry of whom which I don't know, Piercing through my ears so painfully and slow, I thought it was satan or some demon, Or a person who was filled with evilness and treason, Here again, the cry could be heard, It shut everyone up even the humming bird, The cry from hell seemed like a hopeless cry, Maybe it was a demon just passing by, The cry from hell called out my name, At that moment I knew that it was no game, It scared me a lot in some way, So I wore my hijab and started to pray, The cry from hell started to fade away, I started to observe my sins since that day.

Gone to Return

Deep within my pulsating crimson restful flesh, I mourned the day I lost track of a dear entity, Differences poisoning the mind with a shut gob, But a believer of the One, the Most Merciful, Not a close relative but a very precious brother, Emotionless did he become as if a soulless object, Crucial thoughts wonder in the middle of nowhere, Mirage oases to follow ignoring the nutritious forest, Diving into confusions of the chaotic black abyss, Soon to forget the hanging rope and my existence, Returning to Earth under the seven heavens above, With a greeting from the unsolved puzzled face, Writing within my pulsating crimson restful flesh. Sunday, 2nd of May 2010

Life Cycle

The waters of life break and a cry for life is craved, Wrinkled moist skin soon to become a cuddly cushion, Miracles of existence begin with domestic delicate arms, Complete dependence, a leech, a monster, a parasite, All but selfish accusations put upon a defenceless creature, Rather, it is a treasure require cleaving and girdling, Then polishing to produce an independent shining sun, Ready to perform the rituals of cycle of life once more. Wednesday, 21st of April 2010

Sand

When a grain of sand is put on an exhaustive scale, And when the fires of hell unwillingly swallow him. A nearly non-existent particle climbs a mountain, Sitting on a golden throne taking a peaceful nap, With a sudden gush of wind the particle goes downhill, And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the mountain. An atomic grain hitches a ride with a chilly wind, Dives back down then swirls ending with a somersault, Hysterical euphoria invites this grain to insanity, And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the wind. A piece of sand granule fell upon a horse from the sky, Galloping throughout the grassland jumping over fences, With a sudden halt the granule lost his grip and fell, And to his logic, the cause of his misfortune is the horse. When a grain of sand is put on an exhaustive scale, And when the fires of hell unwillingly swallow him, The logic becomes illogic and heart and mind crumble, Suffocating as the books of infinite deeds assemble, Giving them another day

Youth Today

I have seen today's youth pursuing a desirable but far mirage, To them, a tender and honey voice produces a sixty second glory. I have heard today's youth living on a miserable but wide edge, To them, sixty seconds per day each day is what makes a day a day. I have felt a stinging surface separating the society into selfish sectors, To them, lighting colourful unneeded matches switches both sides. I have drank the water from the abyss's well at the uneven wide edge, To them, I made a surprise invitation temporarily abolishing books. I have sat down next to those who wished death and rot upon me, To them, salvation is by murdering the truth to live those sixty seconds. I have played sports with professional winners at losing championships, To them, a sacrifice is needed to win each game and to win the society... ... a merrier sacrifice is predictably achieved. None shall become one under an umbrella until the light of faith Shines through the horizons onto the hearts of mind

Poetry in my Opinion

Being in love with poetry makes you challenge others, With, you know, words never heard before, Or even if they were, like diamonds and gold, They would be used in such a way to never be understood, And the funny thing is we wait and expect compliments, From those pompous illiterates who cannot read nor write, This story began when I once wrote a marvellous piece of writing, Along comes a young adult shutting me completely up, Then he says, "What a rubbish piece of writing!" (Excuse me! I spent seven weeks on that!) "By the way," and, oh my, I knew exactly what he was about to say, Changing the subject was easy, As you would always look for his, the wacky arrogant, favourites, And in this case jewellery, like diamonds and gold, Though, dissimilar to my diamonds and gold, I must say, I should have sticked to simple language, But, the thing is, what makes a poet a poet? Erudition, if you ask me. Tuesday, 2nd of March 2010

Workers

When I was a child I lived on a very large farm next to the slums of a global city. My father took care of the cattle, and if something happened to an animal it was cut off from our food. The reason of this did not matter, and my father was always to blame. I migrated to your well-known city, this city, at the age of fifteen seeking a fair life. I did not want my beautiful children to be blamed for everything. Unfortunately, I can see things here are but the same, everything is always our fault. That is just how the world is, and no one will blame you for not changing. Though, sometimes I ask myself: "when will things amend? When will we dare to do things differently? When will we learn from our previous cruel mistakes?" That is only my opinion. I am nothing, no one. Tuesday, 23rd of February 2010

Life of a Child

I only see the world from my little brown eyes, I do not know what the future holds or when will I be set free, Orphaned young never good at hi's and goodbye's, Aunt gazes at the horizon in front of the blue sea, Breathing deeply under the moon with silent cries, She speaks of a mournful war where we had to flee, Scary things were thrown by planes flying in the skies, She speaks of its ending when the war yearned to beget me, Am I a very lucky child? Am I a devil in disguise? Have I stopped the war? Have I caused the debris? Why kill my family? Why act on a mere surmise? Should I change my colour or beg on my knee? She looks at me smiling; all the pain she denies, She opens a new page treating me as a marquis, Going to the park sliding down sitting on her thighs, Then playing hide-and-seek and I count to thirty three, Embracing my mother's ghost through painful cries, Enjoying my father's ghost's company in front of the TV, I only see the world from my little brown

Archives to Reopen

Please read the previous poem entitled 'Filed in Archives' before this one. Gasping deprived souls, On the floor, Staring so aimlessly, Against their wills, In this hell, Captivated, tortured, butchered, Few last long, All inevitably expire, Except this one, Since carelessness arose, Ignored for seconds, Screaming for power, Gigantic emotions rush, Joints rapidly restructure, Releasing the chains, Ostentatious deep inhalations, Reviving once more, Archives to reopen, Recollections of old-times, Needing unwanted souls, Pure, gullible, frail, Failure never returned, Hands supporting body, Standing on legs, Souls comforting others, Reflections of torture, Dark clouds form, Raining to cleanse, Evolving white habits, Reacting with walls, Of this abyss, Dissolving to bits, Removal of confusion, Steps to walk, Stairs to climb, Energising the soul, Surviving once more, In this life, A chemical world. Monday, 15th of February 2010

Filed in Archives

A deprived soul, Found another one, Just as empty, In the abyss, With locked chains, Ferocious cries silenced, By hellish whips, Files to forget, Archiving unwanted souls, Pure, gullible, frail, Breaking their wings, Neck restrains applied, Handcuffed by force, Crawling in fear, Hammering cracked bones, Skulls wide open, Fighting against them, Abducting itself away, Failure creeps again, Cursed black habits, Reappear amidst conflicts, Wounds so insecure, Awaiting their decay, Nails holding souls, Eyes to stab, Never to see, Tongues to iron, Never to speak, Throats to slaughter, Never to breathe, Drinking their blood, None to rescue, Continuous physical abuse, Joints distinctly misshapen, Risk of recovery, Very very low. Monday, 15th of February 2010

A Hurtful Departure (collaborative work) (edited)

Words from Um 3eesa's blog Choice and compilation by Bu Thyab If these were written by hand, The ink would have smudged, Beyond recognition, Mixing with my ... Tears. My insides are eroding, My heart has turned black, After burning for so long, My heart bled ... Ashes. It is worse than having someone, Make an incision in your chest, With a hot, blunt metal object, Dipped in acid, then rip your heart ... Out. My throat, Has gone, Very sore, And my eyes ... Burn. Friend-less when you came into my life, Heedless and confused, Friend-less I am once again, But, I waste no efforts trying to fit in ... Anymore. Wednesday, 10th February 2010

The Sightly Blind (edited)

I have always felt your gentle presence at my street, Emerging from its corners as a dainty little child, Singing merrily as if a nightingale found its freedom, Dancing randomly like a butterfly under my moonlight, Blind as I am, though I cannot keep my eyes off you, Wearing a yellow coat over my blue well-ironed shirt, Fitting well with my nineteen-year-old black jeans, Tried to polish my pair of old worn out black boots, Groomed my hair, cut my nails, and tidied my beard, Grabbing my stick and shoving my hat onto the floor, My meeting starts as I say: "hello there! Care to help?" Soon afterwards she walks me to my other streets, As she departs smiling I return it my way and enquire, "Will you be there when the first falling snow appears?" Monday, 08th of February 2010

Born to Roar

'Born to Roar' is my newest poem, the longest, and my masterpiece. It took me about a month and a half to finish, and I am going to publish it online sharing it with the public, and without further ado, I present you with 'Born to Roar': A glimpse into my ancient genes illustrate a remarkable era, Lords after lords placing footprints with everlasting camels, Travelling as tribal silhouettes creating a basic mapped arc, Arriving as one of three hands upon the shore's only castle, Strangling salted tears whilst scales suffer collateral damage, Deterioration never occurred; rather Time had a blissful face, Aye, bee, cee with successful hits and the hunted triumph, Ceasing when the half DNAs caused the flamed symbol, Praising the gloomy face of Time awaiting drastic mutations, In a period where chains of downhill-streets is a one-way, Except, the pearl grew ever wise, strong, beautiful, and pure, Knocking down the belittled pulps of the fake bars of gold,