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Allah Social Poems | Social Poems About Allah

These Allah Social poems are examples of Social poems about Allah. These are the best examples of Allah Social poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |

Thank you

Thank you – Zamreen Zarook

Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.

Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.

People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.

Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.


Details | Free verse |

The Righteousness Of Love

Love comes from a mother passed to one another she is the reason I'm not six feet under she gave me belief in my will to sustain I am on that life now won't need drugs again The power of Love saved me from being darker locked inside my dreams until they carry me farther than any human being has ever gone before I must have evolved for the hate is no more My Father taught me wisdom that is imprisoned, no longer now larger than life I am no lion, I am stronger my dungeon holds twin dragons awaiting the day evil forces come forth to steal my love away Hero's, not zeros are what the world needs angels, not demons exist if you believe follow all hearts desires and you shall achieve My bright energy has awaken, by a fire that is never consuming proving me no liar if I suddenly die it is far too soon this is a new beginning like after a full moon I am slowly learning how to win by peace now that my great mind is rid of its disease when I take up my pen even I am amazed by its power to heal those who are wanting to be saved I owe it all to the wisdom that gave me clarity, because I learned to let hate die by the righteousness of Love.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "


Details | Rhyme |

A piece of respect

In times of affliction
I raise a voice.
A pain in my heart
Difficult to disguise.

A tale of wrong
You cannot deny.
A wound so deep,
It makes me cry.

Delicate and subtle,
But sublime by nature.
Chosen for you,
From the Greatest Protector.

Like a pearl in a shell,
You can trust your beauty
I never let the devils
Obstruct my duty.

But you chose me not.
You ditched my care.
Like a flower shedding its petals,
You stand truly bare

You look at me
With an absolute hate.
You are fond of this world
and stuck to its bait.

Little you know.
Little you think.
You are made for a purpose,
Not an object of bling.

You fear the people.
You fear the crowd.
Who stand and stare,
Like shaytaan avowed.

The day you will be called.
The day you will be said.
Oh people of this ummah,
Arise and Awake!

You were given a life.
You were given a soul.
You were made perfect
And you had a goal

But you pleased the world.
And you did not stop.
You had the jannah,
But they made you swap

You have no helpers.
You have no life.
Except Allah,
The Mighty and The Wise

So you fail to understand
The inherent wisdom
Closing your eyes
Does not give you freedom

The angels witnessed,
When the scholar said:
You have no purpose here,
I will have you shred

But I laughed at his folly.
When my sister was firm:
To Allah we belong,
And to Allah we return.

The strangers who hug me,
Have held their head high.
To protect their faith,
They always stand by

They swim against the tide
To try their best
They make the word of Allah
Superior to the rest

So unite my sisters,
In every inch and corner.
Allah has given you
The greatest honour.

Your face is not an object.
Your shyness is not a waste.
Glamour is not an asset
To show-off in a haste.

A piece of cloth,
A piece of respect
A true sense of freedom,
You can surely expect.









Details | I do not know? |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | I do not know? |

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.

Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,

Buddha, 
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.

Though,

the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.

"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.

Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,

for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.


Details | Rhyme |

What Makes A True Friend

What Makes A True Friend?

What are the qualities that a friend should
have – that which would make a true friend so true?
A friend is one whom you like to be with
while a true friend insists on being with you.

A friend likes you when you have so much in
common. True friends like you who for who you are.
True friends make you feel as though they are at
all times near, although they are very far.

A true friend is one whom you can always
talk to, even at night when it is late -
when loved ones are asleep, a true friend is
always there to hear what you have to say.

Friends like to share, but a true friend always
gives you – not what you want, but what you need.
The feelings you hide, as well as your thoughts,
and your dreams, a true friend can always read.

A friend may forgive you or they may not
forgive, for something wrong you've done to them.
A true friend forgives even when you don't
ask. True friends forgive - again and again.

Friends are close when you are close to them. A
true friend wants your friendship to be closer.
A true friend does what is best for you, and
hates that you would end up with the losers.

A true friend teaches you lessons to help
you grow – lessons that are hard and easy.
A true friend is always there - having a
true friend can never make you feel lonely.

Friends may sometimes make mistakes, but a true
friend is always careful not to hurt you.
A true friend is a guide and a teacher.
A true friend knows everything you go through.

The true friend I mention is our God,
who kept you company before you were born.
The friendship of God, if you truly keep
and cherish, you will never feel forlorn.

The true friend we all need is God (Allah) –
the One who guides and can teach us lessons,
the One who hears our calls and understands,
the One always near – in every season –

Allah, as a Friend, never judges us
by the way we look and how we appear.
Allah, as a Guide, if we ask Him for
guidance, He guides us and makes our paths clear.

Allah is with us – each day and each night –
He is always there when all are asleep.
Allah always listens when others don't.
He gives you comfort when He sees you weep.

Fortunate are those who have Allah as
a Friend. Friendship with God is friendship true.
May Allah bless me with His Friendship and
May Allah's Friendship be shared with you too.

Ameen. Allah knows best.

Miriam / Mariam Mababaya


Details | Didactic |

Silent Conversation Of Two Wounded Soldiers

Motherland
is ruined to ground and I’ve only an hour or less 
to spend my life. 

The enemy of my people, a bit stronger 
and seems happy to have more time 
to live his, stands before me.

I always thought that great Allah 
was with me; I’m a faithful Muslim. He is 
a devoted Christian. I saw him, ere we exchanged 
bullets of anger, intently calling to his 
Father (household name of his so called God)

Now, we’re slaving ourselves, thinking. 

With our guns pointing at each other, 
would he let me live, or would I let him go?  

Ah, what are we goin’ to do with our short 
remaining breath, continue killing each other 
or mend our wounds?

Or, should we still ask the god(s)
to solve these issues at hand?


Details | I do not know? |

Blasphemy

Blasphemy

The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin


the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...


'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'


'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike

but...

take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.


Details | I do not know? |

Culture Peddle

Who do you think you are fooling?
Indoctrination is the name of the game,
And Mammon is the supreme God.
Jesus, Ram, Allah and Buddha
Are icons for sale.

Prayer music and such-like
Is techno-clink in the tills
Packaged salvation brings unity
For joint commercial ventures.

Catwalk queens prostitute themselves
For cosmetic gains.
Are we redefining pulchritude
Mouthing social themes?
Converting silicone assets
And marketing post mortem sight
For demi-gods to sell?

When the cacophony of a genderless crooner
Becomes cultural music to ears
It’s time, my friend, to search our souls!


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