The Sons Owe A Lot
The trickling fountains of the land,
Douse thirst of parched throats,
The waterfalls sing the melodies,
The deep forests shelter
Stretching overhead the canopy of shadows
On the journey through the sweltering times.
The spheres provide with fresh airs to inhale,
And the plains lay a grassy carpet under our feet.
Now I am haunted by fears,
Numerous grimy stained hands are stretching,
And evil eyes are gazing at you my motherland;
Now you claim something precious,
More precious than the ordinary sacrifices,
And we being hapless have joined our hands
With aliens’ forgetting all your nourishments,
We received from the treasure of your chest,
Just like disloyal sons who turn their eyes away
From the aged mother.
I too am one of them, helpless feeble and weak,
Though no one heeds my cries yet I shall shout,
To remind them all that the land whereupon we are born,
Is the mother and the sons owe a lot
To defend her every inch,
Even with the last reserved dropp of blood.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
Never rift
Do you really want your mother
To be with you?
Do you really love your motherland?
Do you really like your mothertongue?
Mother mothertongue motherland
All sacred and more than your life.
One who is really wise and learned
Love mother mothertongue motherland.
Mother mothertongue motherland is
The lifebreath bloodcirculation of
Our body and soul as well.
This world is our motherland in the
Broader sense and we all
Are brothers and sisters
With the same air same light same water
Same earth same sky
With the same emotion same thought.
Mother mothertongue motherland
Are precious and we are the
Bonafide sons and daughters
We never rift we all accept
Natures gift and go on and on
On this life towards super lift.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Mother land
Mother is dear and precious,
Not single but reasons various,
Bowing head with mind conscious,
World recognize and hold opinion continuous,
We run to her and seek refuge,
To us she is supreme and huge,
Not a word of dishonour to her honour,
Always she is their in our critical hour,
I would prefer more to serve mother,
Even heaven is offered, I won’t bother,
She always keeps flock together,
Why we go and seek blessings from other,
Mother land is no less sacred,
I lay down life rather tears to shed,
Hold the ground and never fled,
Let whole land cover with blood red,
Mother land is more precious than heaven,
To be defended with odds and even,
Not an inch to be given or bartered,
To her feet thousands of lives to be offered,
Never to question what she did for?
What I could offer in case of war?
If honour and prestige are at stake,
I will not bother about my cake,
Mother and mother land both is supreme,
Preventive steps taken even so extreme,
Nothing can be so holier than her,
I pray and worship her and no to her,
I shall deem it my duty to defend,
May not bother even many to offend,
Shall prefer the place in glorious hell,
But not desert her for self interest well
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
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Blood Stained
Atrocities
Made every day
Religiously
Their sins
They hide
Can never disguise
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
They wage their wars
Such profiteers
Will nail us all
Their crimes
Concealed
Despicably reveal
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained lies
They fire at will
Intent to kill
They have no conscience
They have no conscience
Ethnic cleansing nothing more!
Blood of nations blood of war
Turn blind eyes
From all your crimes
You bare our souls
Show no remorse
You cannot wash
The bloodstains off
They turn their backs
While others
Commit grisly acts
Were scared
For life
By politicians greedy
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained crimes
Blood stained lands
Blood stained minds
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
And while such predators
Stalk this earth
Disguised as saints
They kill our faith
Obsessed by greed
Lying through their teeth
They cannot wash
The blood stains off
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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This Light
Hear my words oh you men,
Listen to me oh you that have knowledge;
Because i am the gold of Ophir among the stones of the brook;
But naked i came out from my mother's womb.
I am like the boundary between the light and the darkness,
And like precious crystal and the precious onyx;
But the price of wisdom is above rubies!
I am like the precious sapphire and the precious coal,
And my mind is like the path for the lightning bolt;
But my steps are bathed with the cream of love,
And like the precious pearls in the land of your muse.
Listen to me when i speak,
For my council is like Mount Everest far up high! !
And i am the eyes to the blind in the land of joy.
The old men rose and the old women gathered around,
And like a smelter for silver;
But i am the feet to the lame.
Listen to me oh you that have ears,
For a place of gold is now refined like my name;
But upon many will this light shine unto;
For my love is sweeter than the red apples in your hands.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pensive On Her Dead Gazing, I Heard The Mother Of All
PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-
fields gazing;
(As the last gun ceased--but the scent of the powder-smoke linger'd;)
As she call'd to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk'd:
Absorb them well, O my earth, she cried--I charge you, lose not my
sons! lose not an atom;
And you streams, absorb them well, taking their dear blood;
And you local spots, and you airs that swim above lightly,
And all you essences of soil and growth--and you, my rivers' depths;
And you, mountain sides--and the woods where my dear children's
blood, trickling, redden'd;
And you trees, down in your roots, to bequeath to all future
trees, 10
My dead absorb--my young men's beautiful bodies absorb--and their
precious, precious, precious blood;
Which holding in trust for me, faithfully back again give me, many a
year hence,
In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centuries hence;
In blowing airs from the fields, back again give me my darlings--give
my immortal heroes;
Exhale me them centuries hence--breathe me their breath--let not an
atom be lost;
O years and graves! O air and soil! O my dead, an aroma sweet!
Exhale them perennial, sweet death, years, centuries hence.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Thieves
Thieves lurk in shadows,
Waiting for my eye to turn,
My awareness to slip into fault.
To come and sweep me off my feet.
Stretching shadows until they break,
And dreams come flowing through,
As my eyes become heavy,
With need for the shadows to fall upon me,
And take me into a land so perfect,
To come and steal my night away.
By: Bethany Maxwell
April 26,2010
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Death Penalty
Bring back the death penalty screamed a lady as the blood ran, dripping from the cold concrete as her sons blood fled from its body. Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother as her child dies slowly watching the pools of life fade away from his eyes.
Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother while she watched her child being killed by the hands of another man, bring back the death penalty.
Bring back the death penalty as she screamed holding her dying child while he laid his last words and breath upon her chest. Bring back the death penalty she screamed in mercy so that she will so that she will no longer have to hold any more of her dying sons and lay them in graves before she lays in her own.
Bring back the death penalty she screamed as her sons soul left his body and he became another victim to a violent society. Bring back the death penalty, bring back our sons.
poem by Melvyn Mohan
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Ezhionum
The haven of the monkey god,
and land of the twelve sept,
that spring from three foundations.
Ezhionum.
The land of the white sand
and strengthened hands
ready to farm.
Ezhionum.
The land of many festival,
bringing sons and daughter
from afar.
Ezhionum.
The land of the quiet noon
and noisy eve
Ezhionum.
The home town of tradition
and masqurade dance.
Ezhionum.
The land of my Father.
The land of my Mother.
Ezhionum.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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Red With Native Blood
Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
We have soiled it so, with our hands,
red with native blood.
The earth was stained, when we first came,
red with native blood.
We stole their domain, with a barbaric claim:
that we were civilised and they were not,
that they were the savages and we were not,
when we ravaged the land that began to clot,
red with native blood.
Not content with genocide
we interned them in reserves.
To break their culture
and tribal ways;
in stealing children
the state was brave,
to turn their women
into household slaves,
and hope their men would die,
unmourned, in lonely graves;
a problem to us no more.
Give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
Acknowledge their just demands,
wash the stains from our hands,
give them back their bloody land,
red with native blood.
poem by David SmithWhite
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A Song of the Republic
Sons of the South, awake! arise!
Sons of the South, and do.
Banish from under your bonny skies
Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies.
Making a hell in a Paradise
That belongs to your sons and you.
Sons of the South, make choice between
(Sons of the South, choose true),
The Land of Morn and the Land of E'en,
The Old Dead Tree and the Young Tree Green,
The Land that belongs to the lord and the Queen,
And the Land that belongs to you.
Sons of the South, your time will come –
Sons of the South, 'tis near –
The "Signs of the Times", in their language dumb,
Fortell it, and ominous whispers hum
Like sullen sounds of a distant drum,
In the ominous atmosphere.
Sons of the South, aroused at last!
Sons of the South are few!
But your ranks grow longer and deeper fast,
And ye shall swell to an army vast,
And free from the wrongs of the North and Past
The land that belongs to you.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Mother's Jewel
Red and white garlands draped the treasure chest.
They marched in tandem in the quietness of
The cathedral, offering up sorrowful
Tears to her crimson dressed body
Not even one dropp of red flowed through her veins
As, she lay between the walls of the living
And the dead... the silencer had
Muffled her voice
While from a distance, morbidly taking notes of
My own mortality in a state of gloom …
The pallbearers step forward.
Abundantly reserved, the grieving mother looks on
As white satin covers her precious pearl
Her heart quietly pulsating grief and
Her damp eyes choosing to hide
Behind shades, then with style
And grace, she slowly leads
the procession into the
Entrance, leaving her
Precious jewel in
heaven’s abode.
November 1,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Ode of Mother Mphizi
Oh, sons of Mphizi and daughters
Close to your mother you are
Mopping and cleaning your land
O' great ancenstral bath tab
Vomiting your basin of steam
Just a couple of miles from the tarmac
Going down the rocky strip of marks
Bear, ontop of the tree around
Only the journey smiles
O'great mother of summerland
You come from the spring head
so hot, slipping down the cold sea
Swash, swash and back swash
Malawi lake receives your hand
Oh, mother of the blessed land
Agentle warm bath from your nature
Underground is your root
And with this ready made bath
You prepare to yuor children, adesire
Oh, gread sons of mphizi and daughters
Sniff your mopping and cleaning on the land
Oh, great mother of hotsprings
Settled along time ago
To absorb birds in the garden
As sun rises, grows and die
Every day you bring happiness
In the inseperable china of mother Mphizi
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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birth (Motherhood)
a child born with closed eyes
it was a new beginning of my life
people think a child is born
but ask me, i know a mother is born
people say that mother is precious gift of God
but ask me a child is God himself in her arms
before my child's birth my life was beautiful
but after his birth my life become precious
these are simple heap of emotions - people say this
fools! they don't understand the pleasure of being a mother
its just the same, when you see the diamond you praise its beauty
but when you own one, you come to know how precious it is!
- Pradnya
poem by Pradnya Pahurkar
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Lost Unto This World
(Emmylou HarrisDanniel Lanois)
I was once some mother's darlin'
Some daddy's little girl
More precious than the ruby
More cherished than the pearl
My heart was full of mercy
And my forehead full of curl
Now I am nothing and am lost unto this world
I am lost unto this world...
They herded me like cattle
Cut me down like corn
Took me from my babies
Before they could be born
You can blame it on the famine
You can blame it on the war
You can blame it on the devil
It don't matter anymore
I am lost unto this world...
I was tortured in the desert
I was raped out on the piain
I was murdered by the high way
And my cries went up in vain
My blood is on the mountain
My blood is on the sand
My blood runs in the river
That now washes thru their hands
I am lost unto this world...
Can I get no witness this unholy tale to teil
Was God the only one there watching
And weeping as l feil
O you among the living
Will you remember me at all
Will you write my name out
With a single finger scrawl
Across a broken window
In some long forgotten wall
That goes stretching out forever
Where the tears of heaven fall
I am lost unto this world...
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Land
The Land
He stood tall against the land
he called his home.
The land that could feed him
when hunger gripped him.
Shelter him in times
of coming storms.
For his part in this concept,
he was to look after Mother Earth.
It gave him food and shelter
and he would never scar it.
It was not his land to own
as he would a pair of boots.
New strangers came
and called the land their own,
but they did not own it.
The land was there for all to share,
and if they looked after it,
the land would be there
for every tomorrow’s sun.
24 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Grandma
As she took her feeble steps
One placed after another,
Before she was my child's grandma
She was my precious mother.
Tired and old and back is bent
From the many years gone by
Her hair is gray and voice is low
As she walks slowly by my side.
In her eyes I still see the smile
As she took so little and gave so much
And the pain that she has received
While she always gave me love.
Clouds above us so pure and white
As I look at my mother at my side
I close my eyes and I see a new fallen snow
And then I think, she's purer than white.
poem by Randy McClave
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Mother
Mother are you mad at me
Mother are you scared
That someday you will turn around
And look to find your blue-eyed boy's not there
But mother don't you worry
Mother don't you fret
Cos we've been through so much pain and joy and suffering
For me to forget
The times we had together
Times that were so full (??)
But time's gone by before my eyes
And I realise
Time was often cruel
So mother don't you worry
Mother don't you cry
Cos there'll come a day
When I will take the reins
From your fair hands and wave bye bye
Bye bye
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of the Red Man
When the palefaces came in their whitewing'd canoes,
Long ago, from the sun-rising sea
When they ask'd for a lodge, and we did not refuse
Happy then was the red man, and free.
He could then choose a spot for his wigwam to stand,
Where the forest was crowded with game;
For the blue-rolling lake and the ever smiling land
Were his own till the palefaces came
For the broad grassy plains and the forests deep and grand,
Were his own till the palefaces came.
They came! they came! like the fierce prairie flame,
Sweeping on to the sun-setting shore:
Gazing now on its waves, but a handful of braves,
We shall join in the the chase nevermore
Till we camp on the plains where the Great Spirit reigns,
We shall join in the chase nevermore.
We receiv'd them with gladness, as Sons of the Sky
We believ'd them of heavenly birth;
But alas! to our sorrow we found by and by,
That like us they were born of the earth.
By their false traders wrong'd, by their firewater craz'd,
There was no one our braves to restrain;
So the swift flew, and the tomahawk was raise'd
While we both mourn'd the blood of our slain;
So the smoke-wreath did cease from the calumet of peace,
While we both mourn'd the blood of our slain.
When the oaks, pines and cedars were fell'd to the ground,
'Twas a sight that with sorrow we saw;
For the game fled affrighted, and no food was found
For the old chief, the papoose and squaw.
Driven westward we came, but the paleface was here,
With his sharp axe and death-flashing gun;
And his great iron horse is rumbling in the rear
"O, my brave men!" your journey is done.
Like the beaver and elk like the buffalo and deer
"O, my brave men!" your journey is done.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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