The Sermon
The forceful wings of ethereal self,
Made me fly to the sky,
Transported to the world higher,
Bigger, larger and wider than ours.
Placed I was amid the residences,
Thick, white all; high and small;
I strolled and strolled around,
In front of the big mosque I found,
A plain with myriads trees,
All green of the same size,
They seemed in order, stretched straight,
Extended in the long rows,
As million of soldiers stand still in formation,
And listen to the speech on the day of parade.
In the spacious hall of the mosque,
Squatted men in lines close,
Breathed deep with eyes shut,
As if they stroke upon the harp of heart.
The Imam sitting on the wooden stage,
Began to deliver the sermon on the verses,
“God is the best among the sustainers.”
Then one of the surrounding abodes,
I found my father with blessing looks,
Greeted, embraced he me with full vigour,
Upon his knees, when he sat,
Placed I my head weeping bitterly,
He slackened my pang by fondling,
His fingers through my disheveled hair.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
Arabian Questions That Must Be Asked
They say that the mosque is being built
To promote American/ Arab ties
But you know that’s all a lie.
If you want to heal the American wound
Move it away- it’s much too soon.
You are adding insult to injury
That is something I can not see.
You say that the burning of the koran
Is disrespectful to the Arab world.
Well! How do you think that America feels
When our rights you are trying to steal.
We have the right to protect something
That is sacred to us.
So in your decision we’ll put GODS trust.
We must both ask ourselves some questions
Before you make that decision.
How can the Arab nations build a mosque
In the area of devastation?
What if Americans did something to your
Mosque in retaliation?
Or is it that you want the u.s. citizens to retaliate
So you can say that it is fate?
What is it that you have planned
That you’re determined to take this stand?
Are you going to build the mosque
To blow it up yourselves and blame the u.s.
To get support from other Arab nations?
These are questions that we must ask
Before you start on that task.
“GOD” no matter what he may be called
Is in us one and all.
Let us all stand up for one another
Let us really become sister and brother.
Let us stand up to hunger, poverty, and hate
Let us stand up before it’s too late.
Let us stand up for 9/11
So that all the world can see
That this will live throughout history.
Build your mosque if you must
But let us keep the memory
Of where the twin towers used to be.
Put your mosque far enough away
Where Americans can go to pray
And honor the ones who died that day.
poem by Louis Rams
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A Declined Desire
Death dies herself and does not damage
Those who advance ahead underailed,
Following the prints of the wise pioneers
Whom He imparts the secrets of wisdom.
At downward dive heart beats thumpingly,
And aches as one feels on an oscillating swing
With long ropes when moves to and fro
Between two extremes with hissing moves,
Fearing lest one should crash to fragments.
I landed upon the world underworld,
Before the sunrise, in the moment of morn,
And roved about the too simple mosque
With open lawn and low boundary walls.
Entering through the gateless entrance,
I sat on the ground, gazed at the outer setting.
A slight afar flowed and winding river,
The lush green bushes stooped along,
The banks and brims of the serpentine track.
One by one then entered natives of the land,
Taking seats they sat in the rows straight
On the unwrapped mats made of palm leaves,
They all gathered for the prayers of morn,
And sat I in the end as my merit allowed.
Then one prominent, in the dress simple,
With a piece of white cloth wrapped around
His head, neither tall nor short,
With round sanguine face and grizzled beard
Of moderate length,
Abased in front of all to lead the prayers.
Recitation of verses imbued the heart,
With serene pure pleasure.
Then hands were raised for more blessings,
Before the crowed dispersed, a man squatted left,
Told me the name and place the Imam belonged to,
“Departed He centuries ago yet is known well,
A winding river flows beside His shrine,
Though often it surges to the brims spilling,
Yet causes no rumpus, passes in serene hush.”
A desire then emerged to esteem the adorable,
By kissing the feet of reverend dervish,
But declined He the act of caressing the feet.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Distributors
I bother not who regards me,
A split being or a psycho-case,
Telling you fact, undoubted fact.
Once my ethereal inner self,
Took a flight, landed on the plains,
Remote, too far to explore,
With the material means of wisdom,
Found myself in a spacious barrack.
The wide floor and thick walls,
Were made with rectangular sills,
Of stone hard, gray and quite old.
Covering with the white sheets,
A few men in deep silence,
Lay resting on the low cots;
In the slight dark as we feel,
In the deep shade of a thick grove,
A slight after the sunset or before rise;
It was dusk or dawn, I could not decide.
Wishing to have a view of the outer world,
Went up the steps leading to the roof,
Saw the world much bigger than ours,
Vast sky with a few remote stars,
Emitting out light thin and faint,
Looking around a man I found,
The poor fellow not much reverend,
In the eyes of inhabitants of the world,
With whom I have been acquainted,
Since my playful child-hood.
He by profession was a barber,
He was distracted strolling about,
The ridges on his faced exposed his heart,
He told me his worry, cause of confusion,
Making a gesture to a small room,
Accosted me to plead his case,
To an elderly person resting there,
That from the womb of his wife,
He had no delicious fruit of life.
On his plight I could not refrain,
Went straight into the small room,
Where I saw a humble man resting,
In a chair with a book large,
Opened wide upon his knees,
Wearing brown simple dress,
Serious gentle looking had he,
With the knees bent, I sat in front of him,
On the floor, covered with a mat,
Made of dried palm woven leaves.
I said confessing “ I am a servant,
And meek disciple of those great-men,
Who lead to the glorious path,
Of righteousness approved by Almighty,
This friend of mine does not have,
A child to remember his name;
Pray to God to bestow him one.”
At my request he wrote something
In the book of fate opened wide
Nodding his head that meant, “ Yes.”
After a year I met the friend,
On asking he happily me told,
He had a baby daughter two months old.
I exposed him not what I had seen,
But firmly felt, it revealed to me,
God is the creator of all treasures,
His sacred beings are the distributors,
The fate writers, subservient secret hands,
Have the authority to bless more or less,
But do nothing against the consent of God.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Al-Aqsa is in DANGER!
The mosque in our dear country Palestine
The mosque that is pumping in our hearts
The mosque that should belong to all Muslims
The mosque that is slowly falling apart
Where the Zionists have stepped in
With their dirty hands and shoes
They have touched our holy mosque’s walls
The Zionists including the Jews
They are digging tunnels under our mosque
Hoping the Al-Aqsa mosque to collapse one day
They are hoping to build their own Jewish temple as a replacement
That they won’t even let the Muslims enter their mosque and pray
the Jews and the Zionists have stepped in our Holy Mosque
Doing what they please
Purposely stepping in with their dirty shoes
And forcing our Muslim brothers and sisters to leave
How can we stay silent?
And our silence is the cause
Of all of the destruction happening in our holy mosque
Caused by our enemies’ filthy jaws
Al Aqsa mosque belongs to all Muslims
Not just the Palestinians alone
This mosque is our life
This mosque is our home
The Jews and the Zionists have stepped in
Where the prophet (peace be upon him) and his followers once stayed
Our enemies are standing in our mosque with their unclean bodies
On top of the grounds where our beloved ones once prayed!
The Arabs’ silence MUST end
Where we can finally pray in our mosque and here the prophet’s beautiful, echoing sound
And we shall say “No, you Zionists and Jews. THIS IS OUR MOSQUE! ”
“AND YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO STEP A FOOT ON ITS GROUND! ”
poem by Marria Attar
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A Dream of Innocence
(A dream I dreamt when I was only four years old)
Hardly was I old years four,
Went through an experience unforgettable.
It was the month of monsoon winds,
In the clear sunny morn I went out of the village,
And beheld the sun rising in the west,
Beyond the yonder peaks of the hills,
In the same place where it descends.
Fear gripped my mind and I ran to the mosque,
Lest the Door of Penitence should be closed.
I ran and ran through the streets shouting,
“O! People come! Come to the mosques!
The Doom is encroaching, beg apology of the sins,
Lest the Door of Deliverance be shut.”
No sooner did I find myself in front of the door
Than I found the mosque running,
With moderate speed, as the train leaves the station.
I ran and ran with the petty steps
Beside the walls, with increasing rapidity,
But ever the door remained out of the reach,
Then the mosques went afar; I began to gasp behind,
On the hot ground with bare feet.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Black Flowing Hair, A Memory Of You
I see you leaning by a wall next door
Against an afternoon sun
And though it is your back that faces me
I know
From the beating of my heart
That it is you, Black-flowing-hair
I can smell you
In mint
And you shall be inside me
As I breathe
So I can live for another time
You are
My tallest tree
On top of the Sleeping-dragon-mountain
And I look up to you
Like my full moon one cold night
Untouched by my fingers
Black-flowing-hair
The world may not have found love in my eyes
As I have none to boost
Since I have given it to you
All of it
I shall find it
But shall not take it back
From you
Your shadow is my god
And it is only that I can touch
Without you knowing
The shadow
Of your
Back
My self-made god
Is enough life
I do not ask much
I cannot
You do not know me
There is no need
I only give myself
I do not have to take any
In return
Now I declare
I have found my place
In you
I have found myself
In you
I have found you
I am Mute-white-dove -sitting
On the breast of Black-flowing-hair
Touching the clouds
Holding the rainbow
Saving all the raindrops of my life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fleeting Visions
How sometimes invisible secret eyes,
Capture marvellous fleeting visions,
And see the spectrum of reality,
But the wise regard a product of insanity.
Often I wonder at the sight strange,
And the heart longs to have once again;
That my eyes captured,
While praying to God for bounteous blessings
On the Matchless and the Most Sacred.
I do swear, I did behold,
The fair creature sitting straight
In the rows long, each extended,
Left to right, beyond the sight,
With folded knees, in silence serene,
Of the same colour, age and size,
Myriad like blossomed pink poppies,
Cultivated in lines, swaying in breeze.
Long lashes, black brows, modest eyes,
The ornaments of down casting purity,
Muslin coverings on the heads veiling
Rosy faces emitting thin glow,
Sat on the ground, swayed heads,
Like oscillating cradle about to stop.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Hurt
A new feeling grows inside me
Can't take away the black sky
I'm too afraid to use new colors
Wave the older man goobye
I was drowning in the ocean
I couldn't keep my head up
No one ever helped me fighting
No one ever seemed to mind
Close your eyes don't be shy
There's no need to shut the light
Just try to leave it all behind
If you're ok I'll be fine
You know there's something for me
It just needs to be found
It hurts to know I'm crawling
Why do I feel so betrayed
Tell me when the sky stops falling
Will there be another day
Close your eyes don't be shy
There's no need to shut the light
Just try to leave it all behind
If you're ok I'll be fine
You know there's something for me
It just needs to be found
Needs to be found
Needs to be found
Close your eyes don't be shy
There's no need to shut the light
Just try to leave it all behind
If you're ok I'll be fine
song performed by by Green Lizard from Identity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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song - Snow on The River (ii)
I saw your eyes in pale blue lines you’d posted out of Oban
And breathlessly I kissed your words: all that I could hold then
But if I listen to the night I sometimes hear the chords
In the smoke that bends away from the fire of your words
In the Gallery at Kelvingrove I saw you on the wall
Your face in every picture-frame on both sides of the hall
And in your eyes, wild holiness; the kind I could believe
Like the waves that break upon the west coast of Tiree
I stopped a while at Flannan Isle for Christmas, eighty four
And found the dream that dreamers weave unravelled on the floor
The food was on the table still, but all the birds had flown
It was like you’d never been, as I stood there on my own
And once by Chapelrossan house while you were sat beside me
On the wrong side of the white line, your eyes became the sea
The moon was full above Lang Rig, the trees were silver white
I was just your chaperone, and you my weakness for the night
It’s so long since I held you close it might have been a dream
Though all the moments we once shared still seem so real to me
I spent an evening in your house long after you were gone
But some part of you still lingers between the painted walls
Sometimes I see you strolling on the lane beside the White loch
Down where the ghosts of you and I once took themselves to walk
You’re always in the distance though I wait for you to close
Until geese curve down in darkness where water grasses grow
T’was on the isle of Islay heading westwards from Bridgend
The sun was on the ocean, and Kilmeny filled my head
I heard your voice by Loch Gorm side break through the veil of time
And it took me back to Glasgow when you were by my side
On the High Row in Port Logan it was just a fleeting glance
That launched me back through time and space to where it all began
A simple village hall, where simple dreaming filled the air
But my love, I don’t know you now; tomorrow’s all we share
Soldier (not really a poem)
the american revolution was fought witha new breed of soldier.
this country was founded on that soldier.
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines calls the coward
that soldier is the one that those on the front lines call when they need help
because these soldiers dont miss.
these soldiers are trained harder than the most elite frontline man
these soldiers are tought to kill their enemy before there enemy sees them.
these soldiers are the ghosts in the night,
these soldiers are the wind in the day
these soldiers are everywhere.
these soldiers are the bush next to u.
these soldiers are the the tree across the field.
these soldiers are the lump of snow in the flat plain.
these soldiers are snipers.
snipers are the reason we are free.
snipers stop the enemy before the enemy gets close to u,
poem by Joshua Decker
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I Bore You Up On Eagles Wings
I bore you up on eagles wings
And took you to my heart
When troubles are all the enemy brings
Know that we shall never part
I did not deliver you from affliction
Just to watch you drown
All of life is under my jurisdiction
And my presence is all around
Open up your eyes and see
Your God who dwells on high
I am the One who set you free
And My glory fills the earth and sky
Stand fast my child and do not falter
This fire shall not consume
You must pass through the brazen altar
Before your journey can resume
You shall pass through all the waters
You shall walk through every fire
For you're my sons and daughters
I'll give you wings and you'll fly higher
High above the stormy seas
You'll find your place it is in me
You must get down upon your knees
If you are longing to be free
The Lord says you are free indeed
Whether in the storm or fire
Keep your eyes upon the Seed
And He will surely take you higher
He'll take you up on eagles wings
Into the Father's heart
Into the place where angels sing
A place that quenches fiery darts
And though the world be shaken
And tried by fire and flood
We walk in blessed union
And we are covered by His Blood
And now we see that every nation
Has turned its back and walked away
And so shall face the tribulation
That comes before the judgment day
Stand fast in the Lord and be unmoved
By all of this commotion
For the saints in this day shall be approved
And known for their devotion
And in the end we'll fly away
To where the angel sings
Rising to the throne of grace
He'll take us there on eagles wings
poem by Frank McEleny
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Mosque
A place of worship
Where muslims bow down before
Their Maker with utter devotion
Irrespective of race, cast and colour.
Mosque is the symbol of their unity,
The unity which distinguishes them from others.
Mosque is the citadel of Islam,
It is the symbol of its glory,
Mosque removes the distance
Between God and muslims.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Somewhere In Fantasy Land
Yesterday, as we strolled
together in a fantasyland,
I was taken back to another
time of our youth.
A handsome young man, a
young naive girl, holding
hands. Looking at each
other with stars in their
eyes.
Anticipating tomorrow.
The grassy meadows were
lush and green. Valleys
were ablaze of color.
Baby buds yawned, waking up
from their long winters nap.
Began to open their eyes
as the warmth of the season
penetrated them.
Petals opened displaying a
pamorama.
You gently touch my
lips, asking me, I agreed.
That day so long ago, I
found my hearts delight.
Knowing this love would
last forever, and it has.
poem by Heather Burns
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Early one afternoon
Early one afternoon
I walked through the streets
of a small village
and it had to be in Italy
and was probably in Corona
or Tuscany.
a Baker with a white overcoat
and white hat on his head
rang on his bike’s bell for me
and pedalled pass,
with an old green bike
at the Pizza Palour.
There were long white breads
and green wine bottles,
in the baskets of his bicycle
and he had a big bush
of red blue lanvender flowers in one hand.
Across from me there were three small tables
with white table-covers,
at the Villa Toscana
and I could read some dishes
from the menu on the wall.
At the wall a young woman
with dark hair and an indigo dress
laughed sharp and bright,
while she waited
that a well built waitress
pour some more wine.
The image of the beautiful waitress
with black hair and deep dark eyes,
that bends forward
still stays with me.
In front of me at Le Art
there were a row of paintings,
depicting nudes to the finest detail
on painter’s easels.
I walked nearer
and I could see rows of violet lavender bushes
against the ridge in the distance
and Villa’s, that stand yellow gold
up on the hill
and looked impressive
against the deep blue sky.
When I got back to myself
I was at the fountain
in front of the mural
in our garden
and the golden Persian cat,
watched me from the top of the wall
with a woolly tail that curled down
and it looked with golden eyes at me.
[Reference: Tuscan mural by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1417_Early_one_af ternoon.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Papal Limerick
A middle-aged nun from Sicilia
met a dancing girl, name of Cecilia.
When they switched off the light
it was dark in the night
and the nun said, Cecilia I feel ya.
They were hauled to front up to the Pope,
who was harsh and said 'clemency....Nope'.
then they prayed over tea
and the Pope said 'to me
there is method and madness in dope.'
So he took them into the great hall,
where huge carpets hung high on a wall,
in a locked cedar chest
they found what he liked best
that is all I can tellyou, tis all.
(Well I lied it's a common affliction) ,
which affects normal speech and one's diction,
as the day came to close
he said 'take off your hose
nylon panties cause way too much friction.'
Soon the dope had them snookered and hot,
so the Father went straight to his cot,
there he beckoned and cooed
and the words were all lewd.....
when the girls saw the porcellain pot.
Then the nun who was curious went
had a look at the pot (and the tent) ,
saw the pot full of piss
and declined the big kiss
it was one big predicament.
There were four sturdy palace guards, too
they had nothing too urgent to do,
so the Pope asked them 'please
sit them onto my knees
and take out my old porcellain loo.'
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Binnorie
THERE were twa sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a thing.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sair envìed her sister fair.
Upon a morning fair and clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
'O sister, sister tak my hand,
And let 's go down to the river-strand.'
She 's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river-strand.
The youngest stood upon a stane,
The eldest cam and push'd her in.
'O sister, sister reach your hand!
And ye sall be heir o' half my land:
'O sister, reach me but your glove!
And sweet William sall be your love.'
Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
Out then cam the miller's son,
And saw the fair maid soummin' in.
'O father, father draw your dam!
There 's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd women.
You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
You couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
All amang her yellow hair
A string o' pearls was twisted rare.
You couldna see her fingers sma',
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.
And by there cam a harper fine,
That harpit to the king at dine.
And when he look'd that lady on,
He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.
He 's made a harp of her breast-bane,
Whose sound wad melt a heart of stane.
He 's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae rare.
He went into her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.
He laid his harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play by lane.
'O yonder sits my father, the King,
And yonder sits my mother, the Queen;
'And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true.'
But the last tune that the harp play'd then--
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Was, 'Woe to my sister, false Helen!'
By the bonnie milldams o' Binnorie.
Pictures Of You
I've been looking so long at these
Pictures of
You that i almost beleive that they're real i've
Been living so long with my pictures of you that
I almost believe that the pictures are all i can
Feel
Remembering you standing quiet in the rain as
I ran to your heart to be near and we kissed as
The sky fell in holding you close how i always
Held close in your fear remembering you
Running soft through the night you were bigger
And brighter and wider than snow and
Screamed at the make-believe screamed at the
Sky and you finally found all your courage to
Let it all go
Remembering you fallen into my arms crying
For the death of your heart you were stone
White so delicate lost in the cold you were
Always so lost in the dark remembering you
How you used to be slow drowned you were
Angels so much more than everything oh hold
For the last time then slip away quietly open
My eyes but i never see anything
If only i had thought of the right words i could
Have hold on to your heart if only i'd thought of
The right words i wouldn't be breaking apart all
My pictures of you
Looking so long at these pictures of you but i
Never hold on to your heart looking so long for
The words to be true but always just breaking
Apart my pictures of you
There was nothing in the world that i ever
Wanted more than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world that i ever
Wanted more than to never feel the breaking
Apart all my pictures of you
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Glastonbury Song
I dreamed myself from the sultry plains
To the old green square back in old maybole
Rode the wind up to stornaway
Paused at the peak, pacified my soul
Caught the bus at the faery fort
Made it to the mansion on the boyne
See I come around to the ancient ways
I took a tip from the buddha boy
I just found god
I just found god
I just found God where he always was
We came down from the hill of dreams
Bernadette, mother earth and you and me
Through carraroe, down the wildwood side
Blinding out eyes in the shallow seas
Drank fire with the king of the blues,
Plugged in to the medicine way
Took a long last look at crazy horse
Push now for a golden age
I just found god
I just found god
I just found God where he always was
I found myself on the roof of the world
Just waiting for to get my wings
Strange angel in the changing light
Said brother, you forgot something!
My heart beat from the inside out
So lucky just to be alive!
Can you tell what Im talking about?
Any day now the suns gonna rise
I just found god
I just found god
I just found God where he always was
I just found God where he always was
There is a green hill far away
Im going back there one fine day
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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Big Time
Suc cess
Im on my way, Im making it
Ive giot to make it show, yeah
So much larger than life
Im going to watch it growing
The place where I come from is a small town
They think so small
They use small words
-but not me
Im smarter than that
I worked it out
Ive been stretching my mouth
To let those big words come right out
Ive had enough, Im getting out
To the city, the big big city
Ill be a big noise with all the big boys
Theres so much stuff I will own
And I will pray to a big god
As I kneel in the big church
Big time
Im on my way-Im making it
Big time big time
Ive got to make it show yeah
Big time big time
So much larger than life
Big time
Im going to watch it growing
Big time
My parties all have big names
And I greet them with the widest smile
Tell them how my life is one big adventure^
And always theyre amazed
When I show them round my house, to my bed
I had it made like a mountain range
With a snow-white pillow for my big fat head
And my heaven will be a big heaven
And I will walk through the front door
Big time
Im on my way-Im making it
Big time big time
Ive got to make it show-yeah
Big time big time
So much larger than life
Im going to watch it growing
Big time big time
My car is getting bigger
Big time
My house is getting bigger
Big time
My eyes are getting bigger
Big time
And my mouth
Big time
My belly is getting bigger
Big time
And my bank account
Big time
Look at my circumstance
Big time
And the bulge in my big big big big big big big
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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