The Sport-Rabbits
When avarice, greed and cupidity,
Sleepingly work in the hearts of the members,
Of the family living in the system combined,
They bring out axes, daggers and clubs wooden,
And rate blood: the red substance very cheap.
I recall one of the hurts my mother sustained,
It was the moon-night: the last eve of the fasting month,
The month of patience, tolerance and tongue controls,
When Man nears himself God: the creator,
And is revealed the secrets of the entire scheme.
The village folk stood on brims of the roofs,
All were gazing to the west with thrilled looks,
To welcome the Eid crescent: the harbinger of pleasures,
My dreadful uncle started bickering with my mother,
That assumed the form of uproarious quarrel.
The incensed uncle pulled out rough acacian club,
Advanced unjustified to assault the exhausted woman,
Who scuttled for her life but the chaser had legs long,
And began to batter with violent aggressive blows,
The helpless woman shrieked, made calls for help,
But no one rescued from the hands of wangling champion,
And soon she lay there in the middle of courtyard,
With the injured head and broken leg, all over bleeding,
The whole yard was sprinkled with the drops of blood,
The spot where her head placed retained a big pool,
Of the red substance: ever worthless in the human history.
The callous neighbouring women of the village gathered,
A few cursed the deed, but many amused themselves,
With the spectacle and might have derived pleasure too,
I stood stunned beside my bleeding injured mother.
She remained on the bed for the months six,
No supporting agent of the law came to assure justice.
In the days of winter at noons while she lay in the sun,
I played with my small friends and ran around her bed,
And often I helped her in turning the side when it pained,
Once I stood beside her bed with the thumb in my mouth,
She cryingly said,
“We have been sent in the world of monsters,
Where the mighty prey upon the weak fearing no law”,
Now when I stand on the brim of grave, it is realised,
It is true; it is true, undoubtedly it is true.
The potent individual preys upon the weak men,
The fierce families make the poor their victims,
And the atrocious nations make the feeble their sport-rabbits.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Day Jane Fainted
Jane fainted in the town
by the coach
on Saturday morning
and her mother
and other women
were around her
and you stood
a little way away
wondering what
had happened to her
I think it must be
that time of the month
you heard one woman say
maybe
her mother said
but she's not usually
like this
she added
will she be all right?
you asked
bending down
next to one
of the women
who had gathered
her mother looked at you
and said
yes it happens
at certain times
of the month
oh right
you said
none the wiser
gazing at Jane
at her dark hair
her eyes closed
her features
white and sweaty
best give her some air
her mother said
and you all stood up
and her mother
fanned her
with her hat
then after a minute or so
Jane opened her eyes
and said
what happened?
I went all funny
and everything went white
you fainted
her mother said
waving the hat
in front of Jane's face
I want to get up
Jane said
and so you
and her mother
helped her
to her feet
and she leaned
against the wall
of the bank
and looked around
she'll be all right now
a woman said
it happens
another said
after a few minutes
they went off
to the shops
leaving you
and your mother
and Jane
and her mother
standing by the coach
I'll be all right now
Jane said
ok
her mother said
and you all walked
along the street
to the shops
Jane walking behind
with you
her hand stealthily
reaching down
for yours and giving it
a little squeeze
then releasing it again
looking up at the sky
which had become dark
threatening rain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Introducing... Me!
I am the woman who was the girl who thought she was alone.
The same girl that pretended to be the life of our group to stay on top.
The girl who was everyone's friend even though I did not like myself very much.
I was the girl who thought that love only came in one form.
So I used it to my advantage and ended up scorned.
I was the girl that found herself in trouble too deep to be fished out.
I was the girl who grew up too fast with no way out.
I had to grow, so that I might learn to be the mother I needed to be.
I was the girl who was a child-mother with only my own mother there for me.
The girl who was afraid to pout who had to be always brave.
The girl who felt as if I never got but only gave.
I was the girl who made all her own choices and stood up to take responsibility.
I was the girl who told the world how dare you judge her because of me.
Now I am the woman who, will fight the very devil for my childrens lives.
I fought him for two of my babies and won, my fourth in God's arms lay.
I am the woman who will stand up and shout for what I believe.
The woman who learned the hard way there is no reprieve.
I am the woman who finally learned how to love herself.
And in doing so found true love at last.
I am the woman who is the life of the party now.
The woman that has few real friends, but they matter more then they did then.
I am the woman who can cry and know it will be alright.
I am the woman who can say,
I am beautiful today.
If not for one woman who was there to help show me how.
I would not be the woman standing here now.
My Mother is the woman in me who I long to be.
My Mother is the woman I emmulate and hope my girls will come to be like.
She is stronger then Breast Cancer. Stronger then Divorce.
Stronger then all the trials I put her through.
If she were not here today what would I do?
poem by Lydie Mathers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Collective Grave Of Traditions
I have journeyed a long way,
On never ending
Route of time
I have left far behind
My youth time,
And moments mixed
Bitter and sweet,
Mild and harsh.
I remember the sturdy
Village folk,
Men and women
Of the past years,
With whom I worked
In my childhood,
When came back
After the school hours.
In the month of May,
Beneath the hot sun,
They thrashed wheat
With yokes of oxen,
To change straw
Into heap of hay,
And separate
Grain from the silage,
With rural instruments:
Flails and rakes.
Whole the day
We moved, move around,
Catching cord
Of the inner ox of each yoke,
All the time
Pulling them inward,
Lest they should break
And go astray,
Behind them they dragged
Rough whoopers,
Made of bushes
Inter-twined with grass or straw.
The muscular farmers
Raked the circle of trodden straw,
Time and again,
The old women brought meals twice:
One at the noon
And the other afternoon,
And we all ate with a profound relish;
The taste that the meals gave,
Never was found
Even at the five star-hotels.
When evening befell
We all gathered hay, in longitude
Like a collective golden grave,
And at night we all assembled
For the great feast at farmer’s house
Whose wheat was thrashed.
Now I go through years
Of the mechanical age,
And no one is alive
Among those men and women,
When I sit alone,
The memory of those moments,
Stings me like tingles
Of the golden snakes,
I often recall brawny village folk,
With the invisible eyes
See them working, in the gain-yard
With turbans on their heads,
Rakes and flails in hands
Or on their shoulders,
I also see my mother,
At a the distance, bringing
Contents of meal on her head,
My appetite begins to grow,
And mouth begins to snivel,
I see them all making
A grave-like heap of hay,
In the grain-yard as if they make
A collective grave of traditions.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pleasant One
Clan by clan,
Kin by kin,
One by one,
The store of Bohan!
And like the coastline of great love.
The scorpion passed by near the lion,
But his best-man took away his wife;
And, the story went out through the village.
Customary,
To entice her;
Of a feast,
To entice him;
But, her bride-mate took away his husband!
And, the story went out through the village.
Pleasant one,
To the land of my birth;
Of mercy and truth,
But this woman is from Bethlehem.
This man is your guest and,
This woman is my guest;
Yes, the one with her hands on the threshold!
But, take me to the land of peace.
A man of substance,
A woman of substance,
To the cave of Adullam;
And like your nakedness in the land of your muse,
But, the story went out through the village.
To the great well of Sechu!
Your mother's nakedness;
To the customary seat,
Your father's nakedness;
To shoot three arrows to this side,
Your brother's nakedness;
To sit by the stone of Ezel,
Your sister's nakedness;
And like the muse of the new moon! !
But, to lay naked all day and night,
For, i am old and grey-headed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Women Are Kind
Women are very kind and mild in nature
They are embodiment of love and keep us secured
Enough of tolerance power is rested with them
We are careless and they are the one to take care of us and frame
There are several instances reported about plight
Torture and cruelty committed on them with quarrel and fight
They remain helpless in the entire period and suffer
No one may side with them and at single point differ
Whatever may be their qualification and back ground
They prove weak in defense and helplessly found
Yet one can't escape the duty and responsibility
Their silence is taken as weakness and poor quality
Many brides are burnt alive for the want of material gain
Husband and entire family members make her to suffer with pain
If she has poor father and brought nothing in dowry
There are all chances and reason to lead to worry
Such cruel stories are repeated in every age
Poor woman fall prey and unable to manage
It is tough time for them to face and manage
Some of them come out successfully and write about courage
Gents to suffer in some of the cases
Life is made hell with al odds to face
Rules are such to put him to be disadvantageous
Their stories are circulated in print and make them famous
Life is meant to suffer if that runs in rough weather
We have to pull it under any circumstances together
Some difficulties may arise but it must be taken care of
Life should not be made impossible for others to see and laugh
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Saturday Morning 1961
Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town
her black hair ruffled
by the wind
her eyes
looking over at you
her mother close by
you standing by the wall
having climbed from the bus
a few moments before
your mother stood
and spoke to others
you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold
her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you
and said
I saw you by the water tower last night
as we drove by
my father visiting
a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun
moving beyond the Downs
you said
like some giant moving
away to sleep
she smiled
and surreptitiously
she touched your hand
her mother's head
looking the other way
talking to your mother
of her husband's work
of church or of weather
or whatever
you gazed at Jane's eyes
the turn of head
the smile on lips
the way her hands touched
oh to be with her
away from others
to talk and walk
and capture each moment
with her closeness
but then her mother
moved away to shop
and Jane followed
just behind
and as she walked away
you painted her figure
and beauty
in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Spark That Bled
I accidentally touched my head
and noticed that it had been bleeding
for how long i did not know.
What was this, I thought, that struck me?
What kind of weapons have they got?
the softest bullet ever shot...
I stood up and I said yeah!!
I stood up and i said yeah
I stood up and i said Hey, Yeah!
From this moment on
blaring like a trumpet
comin from above us
and somewhere below
the confidence of knowing
decsending to relieve us
of the struggle to believe its so
I stood up and i said yeah
I spoke up and i said Hey
I stood up and i said hey yeah
And it seemed to cause a chain reaction
It had momentum it was gaining traction
it was all the rage it was all the fashion
the outreached hands had resigned themselves to
holding on to something that they never had
and thats too bad
'cause in reality there was no reaction
i accidentally touched my head
and saw that it was bleeding
for how long i did not know.
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am that woman
I am the woman you cannot stand
I am the woman you cannot part
I am the woman who will f*** your brains up
I am the woman who will make you love
I am the woman who will make you so mad you’ll forget your name
I am the woman who your mother will love
I am the woman who will make your mates laugh
I am the woman who will make you speak all night
I am the woman who will make you go ballistic
I am the woman who will annoy you all the time
I am the woman who you’ll find irresistibly cute
I am the woman who will make you forget what you do
I am the woman who you’ll spend all day in bed with
I am the woman who will make passionate love like a beast
I am the woman who will get you out of control
I am the woman who will make you lose your soul
I am the woman who you will accept defeat to
I am the woman who will make you sad when I leave the room
I am the woman who will drive you crazy when we meet
I am the woman who you’ll want to sit all night and stare me sleep
I am the woman who you’ll hate and love
And I am the woman who you’ll never f***ing forget!
…and you know it’s all true….
poem by Evita Velvet
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Scars
Reality sucks, too much pain
I cant explain why I wanna bash brains
Still I can see it on the other side
Got a new baby, wanna stay alive
Give what I give, give what I got
Make it worth while, cause I got another shot
Broken families that always got pain
I break the chain, refuse to be the same
Mother-did as good as you could
After all the abuse I still understood
Three times divorced, and three times a kid
Gave us more love than our father ever did
Now weve all grown and moved along
Tried to forget, but my brother did me wrong
But its real hard to put it all behind me
Its like a tattoo frozen in a memory
I cant seem to erase the stain
In my brain, things will never be the same
I remember all the lies, f__ked up, now I realize
Never had a chance as a kid, I was a man
Fight after fight wasnt really what I planned
Father!
Whoever you are
Beat my mother down, all I see is scars
And memories - what about me?
Throw me through a window for watching tv
Where did I get this anger?
Where did I get this hate?
And where did I get my temper?
Now Im gonna show my faith
(huh) never will I be like you, be like you
F__ked up, that sh_t - Im staying true
My family, true to my family
Im true to my family
True to my family
Stay true
True to my family
Stay true, stay true
True to my family
Stay true
True to my family
Stay true, stay true
True to my family
True
True to my family
Stay true, stay true
True to my family
Stay true
True to my family
Stay true, stay true
Never will I be like you, never will I be like you (repeat to end)
Produced by ross robinson
song performed by by Vanilla Ice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is a mother? pt 2
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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What is a mother?
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Cold Blows The Wind
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
But when twelve months were come and gone
This young man he arose
What makes you weep down by my grave
I can't take my repose
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips -- one kiss is all i crave
One kiss, one kiss of your lily white lips and return back to your grave
My lips they are as cold as my clay
My breath is heavy and strong
If thou was to kiss my lily white lips
Thy days would not be long
Oh don't you remember the garden grove where we used to walk
Pluck the finest flower of them all, twill wither to a stalk
Go fetch me a nun from the dungeon deep
And water from a stone
And white milk from a maiden's breast,
That babe ere never known
Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep as quickly as you may
I'll lie down in it and take one sleep for twelve month and one day
Cold blows the wind over my true love
Cold blows the drops of rain
I never had but one true love
And in camville he was slain
I'll do as much for my true love as any young girl may
I'll sit and weep down by his grave for twelve month and one day
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Real Game
Uninvited frequent gluttonous guest,
Visited and picked up one by one,
The elder and younger of the family,
Making each time the house desolate.
When I was hardly three years old,
And nothing about painful death was told,
Played carefree with half dressed friends,
And ran around the big tree of acacia,
Staining with dust, mud and water dirty,
Made filthy my legs and arms, feet and face,
My grandmother would then give me a bath,
And I did weep, cryingly protested against,
The act of washing, making me neat.
She then mopped my body, wiped my eyes,
Doting upon me, she caressed my cheeks,
Embracing me she would often warm,
Titillate with the fingers frail and old,
Made me laugh to forget the cold,
She hid behind the door, under the cots,
Played hide and seek to make me please.
Ah! One morning she lay stiff, could not rise,
Then was dressed with the suit of cotton white,
As she would go on the journey long,
Gathered men, women, young and old,
Some wailed, some sniffed, some silent sat.
But played I with the friends of my age,
And ate yellow rice with the belly fill.
In the evening they shouldered the cot,
The procession advanced leaving me depressed,
Turned the corner, with the sacred chorus.
I stood stunned in the middle of the yard,
Staring to the street, questioning the walls,
“Why had they not taken me along? ”
At night I cried aloud when I found,
An empty bed laid in the deserted corner,
I sought under the cots, behind the doors,
Where she did hide, but could not find.
A pair of shoes, the clothes on cord,
Consoled me well, told me the truth,
Ah! The real game at last she had played.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Lost & Found Pt.2 - Found Child
A baby born into addiction,
Fighting for his life before it began.
Held by his mother just once in his life,
Then he is taken from her hands.
Taken to be given a chance
To be healthy outside and in.
A chance to grow big and strong,
Free from his mother's sins.
The child has a family now
And a very loving home.
They took him in for what he was
And raised him as their own.
Years have passed since his birth
And he questions who he really is.
Looking at his loving parents
He knows thier features are not his.
One night with the television on,
And his family sitting around,
The news man tells a story
Of a tragedy across town.
A woman found dead at home.
In her arm was a syringe.
The woman's picture flashed on screen
And made his mother cringe.
He could feel something too;
Some sort of strange connection.
Then he heard a soft whimper
Coming from his mom's direction.
He softly asked her what was wrong.
She couldn't look him in the eye.
She said I have someting to tell you son.
Then she began to cry.
All the questions you asked of us;
If you were ours, or another's.
You see, the woman who died tonight...
She was your true mother.
poem by Joseph A. Solis
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Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the biggest gift of Allah to us
Mother the candle burn herself to light our life
Mother the other name of kindness
Mother who hold us nine month and suffer
Mother who feed us from her blood and milk
Mother stays sleepless all the nights holding us
Mother teach us how to walk and talk
Mother guides us and secures us
Mother loves us from start to end
Mother is mother no one can take her place
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are Women Weak?
Around the world women
Are considered weak
Making them invisible
In most societies
Demarcation lines at front and rear
Women stand putting themselves in gear
Working in fear
'At home is where she should be'
But her inner eyes help her to see
That she will be free
Are women weak?
Doing the work of man
'Yes! they can.
Keeping the house from a band
Working as hard as any man
Are women weak?
Expecting nothing but doing everything
Enough to make ones heart sing
A goddess in her own right
Deeply crying in the night,
But never losing sight
Are women weak?
Taking up where the man left off
Leaving her the boss...
The unheard of she does
Her voice slowly whispers
'I'll be free the woman in me'
Punish me if you most
I can rise from the dust
Are women weak?
Having a child here and there
Maybe that is not fair,
And that make no delays
Even when the man is out to play
The best thing that ever
Happen to man for man
Is a Woman right in his hand
Given props to his plans
Thinking that world is his land
Forgetting of God's touch
Who loves woman just as much
'Foolish, foolish, man'.
Are woman weak?
Women suffer because men refuse to see
Woman is just like he
Man do not understand that
They are cool just keeping woman Fat.
Not in heels but in flats
Imagine that.
Are women weak?
The fear men have makes him strong
By God he know he's wrong
Still a woman works hard and long
Are women weak?
Woman no matter where you may be
You have a friend in me.
whisperkwane
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Simple Fact
There was the simple fact
she was pregnant and by him.
Three months late. Morning
sickness. Throwing up after
breakfast. If she had breakfast.
And Thornton knew nothing
of it and that was the way she
wanted it: him ignorant of that
fact of her being with child as
Mother called it. She’d not seen
him since the big bust-up after
the Chekov play. He rang twice
but she put the phone down with
a mighty slam. That temper of
yours, Mother used to say, will
be the death of you. Not yet at
least, she thought. Mother always
thought she knew best; a childhood
of constant nags and slaps. She lay
in bed listening to birds. Father
was a bird watcher, knew them all,
where they laid and when and
what colour the eggs of the birds
were. She remembered him and
his binoculars and that hat which
made Mother laugh. Soon she’d
get up and puke. The smell itself
was enough to make her puke again.
Thornton’s one minute act of sex
brought all this. God’s seven days
of creating beauty and light were
reduced by Thornton one minute’s
sex, to making hell in a single night.
You’ll make it all work, a voice
inside her head said. But it was a
big step from single self to another
human being lying helpless in the
hands wailing and flailing its arms.
She sat up on the side of the bed.
All thoughts of Thornton, Mother
and Father all mixed up with puke
swirling in her guts and in her head.
poem by Terry Collett
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Morbid Art (A mother she calls herself)
black nails
a dark soul
half a heart
never again whole
cut wrist
blood hides
people see
with eyes that abide
A torn body
scars all around
A quiet mouth
with a screaming sound
She crys for help
first with her wounded skin
she shows her mother her hurt
in hope getting help her mother will give in
But so wrong was she
for her mother only said stop
no compassion in her words
so continued to the blood drops
yet the girl trys again
instead of scars she uses her word
pleading and begging
until she is heard
A mother the woman calls herself
yet she neglected her own
A selfish woman making life hell
while her children feel unwanted and alone
poem by Silent Speaker
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Let's sing together one fragrant song!
When a Man cries in pain
Please do not ignore him
And if you laugh louder
Just watch outside
As someone may laments
in a corner?
We're Kings and Queens
Mothers and Fathers
Brothers and Sisters
Friends and not Enemies.
World is a one Yard!
And please do not make barbed wire fences.
Heart is the Religion of Human beings
And when it's pierced so painful!
Let sing together hand-in-hand
And we must marry each other for good
Ridiculous embargoes and taboos the old kites
Must send to the transparent tattered sky.
There're only two nations in the precarious World
A Man and a Woman?
Humanity is the Religion!
In the human sensitive veins
Vermilion blood river flows?
We purposely make this paradise Earth a living Hell!
Instead of rage bullets
Fix the harmonious strings into your precious metallic guns
And sing together in high pitch.
We're Mothers and Fathers
Brothers and Sisters
Kings and Queens
Friends but not enemies
Fences and quarrels no need
And World is a one Yard!
*A humble dedication to 9/11 victims and their families! Almost ten years passed but still we carry the pain in our bleeding hearts?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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