These Allah Mother poems are examples of Mother poems about Allah. These are the best examples of Allah Mother poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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.
On the wings of two angles I was brought into this world…
My mother and father I’ve called them since I first spoke,
To their arms I ran when I first walked…
When my heart was not calm
Their love would come…
When no one believed
They saw what others couldn’t see
When I would cry
With a calm sigh they would smile
And the whole world would stop and the pain would die…
They taught me to not lie…
They taught me to be human…
On the wings of two angels I was brought into this world…
My mother…her beauty puts the stars to shame….
My father…his heart stronger than all the men that walk among us…
I thank my lord for giving me
The biggest treasure on this world,
Love that is clearly out of this world…
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 "
oh mum, don't kill me if you can't afford dowry.
oh mum,don't kill me if you want a boy to birth,
oh mum, throw me alive to live on this earth,
oh mum, don't dig a hole to hide me as indian myth;
oh mum, just educate me then never feel sorry.
i shall serve you as a servant don't feel pain my living,
please ask my brother if he can protect me if dare having.
I can walk on thorns to keep you happy don't cage my
why is Indian culture don't believe that I am also human?
why is security matter for me as a man is nudity fan?
don't afraid from gangs they are coward can't face a girl,
they can't love to daughter and sisters, looking beauty
they kill girls, demanding dowry, live in a cultural
when women 'll be free in india that's facing degrading
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,
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,
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 fanatical insanity,
I fear I shall be writing this again,
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)