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Best Algerian Poems

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Details | Algerian Poem | |

Of Gods and Men

Men of cloth
Men of faith
Against all evils, lost hopes
Choose the light and will of the gods

They stay
Where all others flea
They reflect upon lost causes
Yet give of heart and sweat to the poor

They are not brave hearts
They are but kind souls
To the last breathe
Weep not for these heroes

The village adores and praises
For kindness transcends religious teachings
To cure and heal is god's gift
And natures way of life eternal

Pascal’s wager in the minds of a few
As old men contemplate
Wildflowers who by the grace of god, receive the sun
So in fate, planted, they stay, they do not run

They are not the last or only
They are but the hope of what can be
They reflect the goodness we all desire
In love of mankind

Des hommes et des dieux, dedicated to the Trappist monks who lived in harmony with the largely Muslim population of Algeria, until seven of them were kidnapped and assassinated in 1996 during the Algerian Civil War.

Details | Algerian Poem | |

MAZEL TOV

A week in Spain, the Pyranees, a picturesque drive
from Barcelona, where I had not thought to become the owner
of sanity once more, there, where the command of a
mountain is to Look Up, leave the roiling band of unrest
over airways, TV screens, the front page unquiet
conversation we are accustomed to in our Nation,
no escape from that, except in rarified altitudes of no rape.
un-civil wars, terrorism, assaults with handguns, students killed
in classrooms.  "Loony Tunes" play in this country we love,
America, and abroad a Middle East in crisis.  It's a given,
said my husband, born Algerian: no peace, No Peace.
So, home again, I said, standing in a postal queue,
Mazel Tov to absence of all this among the hills
of rural Spain, where, Yes, there's rain, but much less
pain. The postal clerk was unkind, he said,
Girl?  Why Mazel Tov? When here you could
have merely turned your television off.

Details | Algerian Poem | |

dreams under dust 1of2

i read and hear online the words 
from the other side of the world, 
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face 
of a soul with far, far too much 
sorrow to carry.

my eyes well, as i 
cannot help but too, 
share in the sorrow 
of the loss born by 
farmer Muhammad Wazir

Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters, 
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons, 
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and 
a sister-in-law

Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?

"I loved them all like 
they were parts of my body,... 
All my dreams are buried 
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy, 
Habib Shah, is the only one 
left alive, and I love him 
very much" says Wazir.

I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this

Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the 
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?

Bales' wife Karilyn sends 
"condolences to all the people 
of the Panjawai District ... 
especially to the parents, 
brothers, sisters and grandparents 
of the children who perished"

Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish 
is needed to look into 
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness

What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.

meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary

and three French paratroopers, 
of North African descent, 
as well as a Rabbi and 
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives

the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,

....{continued in 2of2}

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21


Details | Algerian Poem | |

unchain my heart from kabilya

Unchain my heart from Kabilya
Unchain my heart, my amazigh son

You make me weep

You left to Algiers

And I dare not cry

You are on your way to Rouiba

Oh amazigh son

You awakened my soul

I am your Kahina, my love

I die a thousand deaths each night

Because you are not with me

I had to help you get to your people

They need you more than me

Know that I love you, Algerian king

Know that I cry for you each night

I love you, my Algerian

Speak to the skies of Algeria 

Tell the skies and the mountains

I love you

I love you

Twahashtek Besef, ya oumri
Kathleen Voss Woolrich

Details | Algerian Poem | |

Frantz Fanon (From Pages)

Martinique is in our history too
Not just in our blood
Because Josephine seduced him
To make us reap more bitterness
From the ferment of the sugarcane
Martinique was also his home
His native shore
Long before Paris
It was his Algerian door
But why should I tell you this
For it is chronicled
In us who wear
A black mask
Over a white skin that do not appear
In the mirror of your soul
He could see beyond
The root of our insanity
Even when we were invisible
Not just to the whip cracker
Boot licker
Heartbreaker
Drum maker
Truce taker
This was our genius
Our noble gift to the barren world

Where shall I start over
My history, my image
I defended so long until I was washed in the night
And my bright brother does not see the carnage
Except Fanon tell them again
That in this polarized man
Are poles more wretched
And we wretched of the earth
Can hope now
For what? 
Steve Biko knew what direction the sun
Come crawling on the sky like a maggot
Biting in the apple of the eye.
There is so much frenzy in a storm
Death brings peace
The only peace we get for free
The one we never desire
Sometimes I wish I knew
How to turn the sun into fire
And cleanse the earth of me
As an image in another mind
But where would I get
Another mind to know
The litany of our regret.

We all have a Morocco dilemma
We are wounded there deeply
Like he was
What world is this they founded for us
This third marginalized
This obfuscation of reality
How shall we find in this
Another identity for a new begining
What woman is there
That will cease dancing with her shadow
And love me for the hope I am
For the absolutely beautiful reason
That I dream of death
Impaled like a fish
Gasping on the sand of his flesh