Sharia Jaziya And Sikhs
Attacked from all corners,
Herd of bearded, skull capped killers,
Bombs, gun wielding fanatic riders,
Only Sharia and Jaziya and death gliders.
Uprooted from their land, no food no water,
Only bombs and bullets freely fire,
Crazy messenger of death and terror,
Heralded death to many dear and near.
Watched with horror by helpless eyes,
No love or help from any sides,
Free loot of Sharia and Jaziya chides,
Sympathy false from secular step brothers,
Where love and help reserved for Sharia followers.
N.B. this sonnet (short poem) was penned down on religious discrimination against Sikhs and non Muslims in Aurkarzai in Swat valley in Pakistan who were forced out from their houses for not paying Jaziya, a communal tax.
FROM:
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Related quotes
Viva Mas
Drop Bars not Bombs
Make Chai not War
Baseball not Bombs
Books not Bombs
Make Love not War
Drop Tuition Not Bombs
Blondes not Bombs
Beats not Bombs
Drop Class not Bombs
Make Art not War
Flowers not Bombs
Food not Bombs
Make Levees not War
Drop Seeds not Bombs
Bread not Bombs
Beauty not Bombs
Drop Television not Bombs
Make Solidarity not War
Build Trust not Bombs
Bring back Food
Boycott Banks
Bring Life not War
Make Tracks not War
and this is the way the long road Ends Not with a bang but a whimper
poem by Jerome Moore
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The Woman, Stoned to Death
She's put on trial
convicted of a crime
for having betrayed her husband.
For violating
the moral code
of the land,
she stands in front
of the crowd
while men throw stones at her
until she falls down.
Hurrah to the law of the land
as the woman is carried
out of the arena of shame
to her own grave of rest
without a name.
And she is stoned to death
for her crime
because she is a woman
under the Sharia land.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Early Works - Understanding
With a little understanding and humility,
this world would be a better place for you and me.
Instead of bullets, bombs and rockets
we’d have love between our neighbours and families.
Instead of death, destruction and misery
we’d have outstretched hands of friendship
from stranger we did not know.
No cause is worth the death of one man
no matter what that cause may be.
For love and understanding
is all anyone ever needs.
When all the bullets and bombs are gone,
what kind of world will be left,
the answer lies within ourselves?
Within our faith and understanding,
we must look at our enemies
try and understand their plight.
Not with weapons of mass destruction,
but with hope and understanding
that they have rights like us,
then maybe one day
we’ll all live under an umbrella
of peace and harmony.
19-20 February 1996
poem by David Harris
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Sorry! We Let You Down
Children of beautiful Seven Sisters,
Does not fear or run; nation is with you.
Do not cry for attention and safety;
You are our part and not outsiders.
Jointly will boot out the criminal intruders,
You are our first love, real brothers and sisters;
Secular fascists have let you down,
But do not care those racist scoundrels.
Do not feel ignored, mocked or excluded;
We are taught to love and care you;
No discrimination be meted out to you,
You will be in news for reasons good.
Blue eyed star of national family,
Forget the past of death and destruction;
Of violence, victimization, and uprooting;
That history tortured will not be revisited.
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Shills
Shills of rancid lifeless priests
Indolent waves of amber hypocrisy
Religions of national honor
Ply your strife and pale armies
Here comes the fall of kings
Hide from the poor and sick
Wave your banners and flags
The hypnotized children of temples
They have chains of religion without God
Sharia law is repressive and of men
Follow men rather than love
False prophets
Only Jesus Christ sets free
Capitalism is a secular religion
My kingdom is not of this world
They try to tell you one country is better
They preach brands and money
Militarism, imperialism, colonialism
Steal the land or enslave the people
State religions are so evil
Nationalism the idolatry of power
God by the gun
Spirit of a mob
The shills of religion and states
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Say a Prayer for Darfur (Revised)
Say a Prayer for Darfur (Revised) (Warning for Mature Audience, violence depicted)
Darfur, yesterday,
Cozy, thatched huts,
Shining in the sun, nestled in the sand.
Darfur, yesterday,
Brightly-garbed, graceful women, friendly, strong men.
And the children…
The children,
Running and leaping,
Playing and laughing.
Today, a grinning skull
Hangs like the moon,
Over a gutted Darfur.
For Death came to Darfur,
Draped with murder and mayhem,
Wrapped in hate, lusting for power, land and oil…
Death came to Darfur,
On the backs of camels, driving trucks,
Wielding fire, sticks, bullets and bombs.
Today, behold, Darfur,
Burned, charred huts, starving children,
Dead bodies baking in the sun,
Untold numbers of women raped,
A tiny baby beaten to death,
Rumors of school children being burned alive!
Villagers locked in their huts and cremated, alive.
Children with noses cut off and eyes pulled out,
The village of Labado lies like an agonized, charred corpse.
Come, weep with me,
Pray with me,
For Death camps in Darfur!
poem by Mary Naylor
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Death’s Too Near
Death, you’re standing rather near!
Don’t you understand the fear
You trigger deep within my soul–?
The terror sprung by such a ghoul
Of dark and hideous hue!
Now you’re rattling on my door!
I’m sure I threw you out before –
Methinks you really need to learn!
So leg it please and ne’er return
To haunt me ‘gain, now shoo!
Gain a sense of social pride, and
Keep your bearing far and wide –
Perform the deed when I am done –
Be free and loose to have your fun
When I’m too frail to turn and run,
But now I’ve living to do!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death, death nearing death
Death, death, nearing death, death
Death, death, nearing death
Death, death, death
Death, death
Death
Death, death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death, Death And Death
I see the death everyday
Death in relations
Death in religion and faith
Death of man in man
Everyday, everywhere, every moment
Death, death and death.
I experience the death around me
Millions and billions of ceremonies
The smoke on maps of mankind
Death in temple and streets
Death in clubs and parties
Death, death and death.
I foresee the death of humanity
Harassment, discrimination and hatred
Death in purity and sacredness
Death in broken mirrors and home
Death in king, death in masses
Death, death and death.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
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By the end of this...
By the end of this poem you will love death
because death is a figure of speech
as heaven and hell
to all that believe
they will be deceived
By the end of this stanza you will love death
you don't see death
he sees you
and who am I to say he?
he, she I don't know
My the end of this line you will love death
Death is your friend
when you are tired and sad
you can summon him
with the flick of a knife
by the end of this word you will love death
death is beautiful
don't deal with the pain
don't deny the beauty
don't sacrifice your life to living
something so insignificant
your ego will kill your pride
Now comes the truth
it was coming all along
Now at the end of this poem
...You love death
poem by Lady Viola Of The Grave
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Bomb-Bay
'Bomb-Bay' oh Bombay! !
Of the tears of many eyes that saw your dead;
With killers in Jeans and T-Shirts.
The 'Taj Mahal Palace' was in flames!
And, why should people hate others so much like this?
Why?
The horror of bombs and the death people that was recorded,
Oh India! ! Why should this occur to you?
'Bomb-Bay' oh Bombay! Of the terrorists acts against you;
Mumbai oh Mumbai, then came the explosions on................
The Metro Cinema,
The Cama and Albless Hospital,
The Trident Oberi Hotel,
The Chowpatly Beach,
The Administrative Office in Mimbai,
The Gokuldas Tejpal Hospital,
The Chhatrapati-Shivaji Main Station,
The State Bank of India,
The Leopald Cafe,
The Taj-Mahal-Hotel,
And the Nariman House.
Bombs were on Bombay like 'Bomb-Bay'!
But many people died at the main station and the Taj-Mahal-Hotel;
It was a sad news on this sad day of many bombs!
Why Mumbai? In the land of the Hindus.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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What Stephen Lawrence Has Taught Us
We know who the killers are,
We have watched them strut before us
As proud as sick Mussolinis',
We have watched them strut before us
Compassionless and arrogant,
They paraded before us,
Like angels of death
Protected by the law.
It is now an open secret
Black people do not have
Chips on their shoulders,
They just have injustice on their backs
And justice on their minds,
And now we know that the road to liberty
Is as long as the road from slavery.
The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us to love each other
And never to take the tedious task
Of waiting for a bus for granted.
Watching his parents watching the cover-up
Begs the question
What are the trading standards here?
Why are we paying for a police force
That will not work for us?
The death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us
That we cannot let the illusion of freedom
Endow us with a false sense of security as we walk the streets,
The whole world can now watch
The academics and the super cops
Struggling to define institutionalised racism
As we continue to die in custody
As we continue emptying our pockets on the pavements,
And we continue to ask ourselves
Why is it so official
That black people are so often killed
Without killers?
We are not talking about war or revenge
We are not talking about hypothetics or possibilities,
We are talking about where we are now
We are talking about how we live now
In dis state
Under dis flag, (God Save the Queen),
And God save all those black children who want to grow up
And God save all the brothers and sisters
Who like raving,
Because the death of Stephen Lawrence
Has taught us that racism is easy when
You have friends in high places.
And friends in high places
Have no use whatsoever
When they are not your friends.
Dear Mr Condon,
Pop out of Teletubby land,
And visit reality,
Come to an honest place
And get some advice from your neighbours,
Be enlightened by our community,
Neglect your well-paid ignorance
Because
We know who the killers are.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
Death death
Death death death
Death death death death
Death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death
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Death death death death
Death death death
Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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There is a rule of Sharia: If the enemy wants to suppress you, you are supposed to put up a strong resistance.
quote by Akhmad Kadyrov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ultimate Sacrifice
When nations turn from peace to war,
Each soul must question why...
When Death itself is at the door,
To bring its long goodbye...
To think, that leaders lead us all,
To back them to the hilt.
It's then we see our heroes fall,
When each of them is killed...
When little children shake their heads,
Disgusted at such things,
It's right to pray beside our beds,
Condemning what war brings.
The need for guns and bullets grows
And even bombs are made -
Efficiently Man fights his foes
And in their graves they're laid...
Who knows the good they could have done,
If peace had been their lot,
Instead of wars that must be won,
When nations turn from God?
If only love lived in each heart,
We'd share God's Paradise,
Instead of this, new conflicts start
And blood's our sacrifice...
For some, the cost was loss of health...
For some, it's wasted time...
For some, the cost was death itself,
When they were in their prime.
Is this the wisest way to live,
With bombs and bullets, too?
Christ's sacrifice helps God forgive
The evil that men do...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Mother Cow And The Secular Republic
A beautiful cow- writhing for water;
I rushed to fetch some and cursing her tormentor,
Picked a bucket and for a fountain, I rushed;
And I collected some dripping from the rocks parched.
Her pained balls- roving around for some drops;
But gushing- I could see no crops;
The vision of exasperating Mother Cow,
Seeing water, parched nation and raving crows.
The pain- she was dead, water was not in her fate,
I did fetch water for her, but too late;
But it was not her fault,
Then who is to blame for this jolt?
Alas! Mother Cow has to die for water and space;
As we live in a secular, socialist republic, with an ugly face.
FROM:
DR. YOGESH SHARMA
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Death - The Gift of Life
There’s nothing certain but death
Nor beyond nor before
We are born and live to die
Death the only gift of life
We fret; make noise, shout and cry
We skid from hills to valley and back
Get torn among home, work and friends
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We fight, we scream, we spurn
We step on each others’ toe
All to achieve and amass
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Walk we straight with pride
Look we people in the eye
Seldom do we stop and stoop
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We make friends, yet sly
Break hearts and water eyes
Too proud to bend or mend
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Each death promise another
Our last breath gives forth life
To another birth to die again
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Never can we live past in life
In death we reach the very start
From grains we come, to grains we go
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
poem by Thomas PJ New Delhi
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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