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Best Arabic Poems

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Arabic Proverb by Manassian, Eileen
Arabic homeland by Hassan, Faleeha
My days and my nights -- translation from my Arabic poem by Chiang, Christy
Fara5*Empty-In Arabic* by al-riyami, sajdah
Ummi (mom in arabic) by Merahi, Nassira

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The Best Arabic Poems

Details | Arabic Poem | |

In Bed, Side by Side

          ... through nights of ether.
          Liquid paraffin drowns shadows
          of potpourri

          and anniversaries
          that measure the distance of sight and sound
          tiptoeing down thousand-threads

          sheets in ascetic reds
          or tense blue — Déjà vu of absent drive
          As if our apathy could long survive

          its own silence.
          I wonder if there will be time
          to pull up anchor and sun

          or if we'll just float adrift
          until sinking — sacredly 
          ever after.




07/27/2015
.

More great poems below...


Details | Arabic Poem | |

The Art of Attraction

I heard it said once
That attractive to an artist
Does not mean "pretty"
In the average sense
But more something that
Is interesting to look at
And makes you want to 
Keep looking

To him, I can look for hours
And want to keep looking

He is the color burnt umber
Like coffee and cream
And purest black ink
Not blue-black, or brown,
But the undiluted purity
Of a spilled ink-pot
Shaped by the delicate curve
Of a calligraphy brush
Into perfectly, haphazardly
Beautiful curls, erratic and
Bold

And his eyes
Those eyes
Like coffee, taken
Without cream or sugar
But turned amber by sunlight
And sweetened by laughter
Making what might have been
Intimidating, with their darkly
Charcoaled outline that 
Marks them as Arab
Instead as sweetly inviting
As the warm half-light of dusk
And so addictive

I've been looking for hours
And I want to keep looking






Details | Arabic Poem | |

If Languages Were Instruments

If languages were instruments,
English, the language of my own America,
Would be something like a piano.
Each word is clear and sharp-
When we sing, the note does not waver.
But I suppose it's more fair to say that
English is something like an electronic keyboard
With two hundred different modes because English
Has so many different versions, 
Adaptations of other instruments,
Emulations, or imitations, however you want 
To think of it; there is no accent that cannot 
Be reconfigured to be
Played on keys in distinct shades
Of black or white.

Arabic though...
Arabic is more like a violin.
The sound of Arabic
Flies up and down the scale
In deliciously smooth legato,
Stopping to linger on vibrato;
Poignant

Details | Arabic Poem | |

i wanna be creative

i want to be creative 
but sometime i am negative
damn someone turn me positive 
to make me feel am a good native

listen to me bb no one can be great
only if you now how to make the beat 
beat the best and u never take a set
cuz everyone well the bad freaky beast

Details | Arabic Poem | |

The Mountain Top

I climbed to the top of the mountain
Overlooking majestic snowy peaks
How refreshing to see the clouds below
I am on the door step to the heavens
Or so it seems
All for saying kind words
Its so easy it feels like a  magical dream
That a smile and a kind word
Is returned one thousand fold
I say to fanatics and those so sure
Of what is right and good. or evil and wrong
Climb with me to the mountaintop
Breathe in the joy of being King for a day.
You may conquer them with your armies or terror, this is true
However, from way up high, as you gaze both below and up to the heavens
Would you not rather conquer their hearts?

More great poems below...


Details | Arabic Poem | |

Hell

I sauntered out of an Irish Pub
Basted in booze and Irish smooze
The whiskeys sure didn’t cover the blues
Me, I knew this wasn’t good news

As a crossed the street
I met a bus, Full of nuns, all in a fuss
There was no contest, the bus sure won
I was run over and ready for a place with no sun

I arrived in hell, this surly no surprise
At least I was drunk, or so Satan surmised
He looked confused and asked who am I?
A Lawyer? a Dictator? or maybe I was both?

I apologized profusely for I surely was not
Any of those professions, I'm no in their lot
He asked if I was expecting 72 virgins?
As drunk as I was, I said I was not

He was angry and mad, there was doubt
What could the Devil do? He seemed in a stew
So he gave me a degree, in Law and Justice
So I could live in hell among all the others untrusted!

Notes: No Lawyers were hurt or maimed in the writing of this poem, and I apologize for that!

Details | Arabic Poem | |

When Will My Nightmare End

 When Will My Nightmare End?
You left behind your fathers and mothers; 
you left behind your husbands and wives. 
You put on hold, your very lives. 
You traveled to a land and stated 
You have come to help all those slated 
to be victims of a regime outdated. 
At night you drove ahead, 
into a nightmare filled with dread. 
Into streets filled with danger. 
Completely wary of any stranger. 
To what end you asked in pain? 
What in the world can we possibly gain? 
The only answer you could find 
was in your heart and all you left behind. 
As you drive these haunted streets 
the sound of gunfire so close it speaks. 
It speaks of dangers still unknown, 
it screams of evil to atone. 
This land, in truth, is death and sand 
it is truly a "NO man's land"
By; John Cervone

This is dedicated to all the National Guard Troops who served in IRAQ.


Details | Arabic Poem | |

Life

Life 
Arabic Poem by: Riyadh Al-Ghareeb*
 Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
 ================================
 
It was not his idea 
He did not wave to the sundown of his life
Quite simply, he let life go by 
He was the only one who did not care about the war 
Rather, he listened to music 
And wrote poems 
While 
Shells were falling all around him.. 
Not once, he thought about death 
Nor he paid attention to getting old in the mirror 
All that he cared about
Was a woman he imagined loving him
And waiting for someone who may come back 
Carrying a small snippet 
Emblazoned with the script 
From extreme madness “
 To... “
He lived in his illusion
Even as he became a poet. 
When his life was clotting
And nightfall of life was waving to him
He realized
All that was going on around him 
Was not his choice 
And the life he encountered 
Was not his life.. 
So, 
He tried to get rid of his blue beard
And bitter tears 
Near the nearest war 
of his country’s 
A country that has become 
Addicted to wars.
 
He let his hair grow long 
His dark skinned face
Was on the verge of revealing nightly starvation
At noontime, his children were panting 
After a lifeless Dinar..
His final poem
Was laden with the grief of the world 
But that world did not care about what was going on..
In his only room 
The smell of onions mixed
With the smell of the empty pots; 
Hanging onions 
Was the most beautiful memory in a country 
Without memory 
It's his life 
That he wanted to be 
A part of his ration card, 
His birth record
And the rest of his poems. 

“Woe to the ruin!” 
He said
Removing the dust from a painting of him
Made, in a stolen moment, 
By a painter who died two wars ago.
He was laughing 
And holding a drink with an innocent cheer
As, above his head, birds in the somber colors of the sky were flying
Suggesting the he was important 
And his life was of interest to others. 
He flicked his tears 
And on the tile of his room floor
He saw wars reproduce, 
He saw his children go to a new war 
He saw his wife coughing her years 
Painful looks
And said to himself 
That life 
Was not my idea 
It is a naive game.
However 
Let me keep on this road 
At the end, I may find paper 
For my friends to wrap me with
Like the oldest statue 
Standing on the way of passers-by 
And the country!!!!!! 
---------------
 Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 USA
 * Riadh Al-Ghareeb is a poet from Iraq

Details | Arabic Poem | |

Avalanche Preoccupied

I think I get it:
you want me to swallow your acidic avalanche,
those billion frantic snow globes
of brilliant-clownish confusion,
you want me to rebuild your burned out shrines atop broken blue glacial climbs,
straddle boulders of swaybacked hope and jagged stones of regret. 
You wish me to inhale the barbs of shadows
the velocity of your death.
You want me to embrace the fire of your ID 
with paper arms and gasoline finger tips,
lasso your run-away mind
make a bouquet of roses from a wall of
rock and ice.

I know you'll get this:
I can't embrace your avalanche
while I'm digging out from beneath my own.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

Everything for you

Everything for you

I fought the world for you
She wrote poetry for you
I tried to sing for you
I was happy for you

Structure exclusively for you
Declared my love for you
Patient too much for you
I love roses for you

Planted trees for you
Night stayed up for you
I read books for you
And I'll die for you

Details | Arabic Poem | |

SNAKE EYES

      SNAKE EYES
Most certainly, the world could not agree
With how the dies were cast, that fateful day,
If not for love, 'twould never come to me
the reason she put out, so willingly.

Her belly dancing, gave me my first clue,
That easy comes her love, her night was mine,
Scheherazad dressed out in shades of blue,
and made her touch both prescious and divine.

It was enough just witniissing her charm,
And yet her teasing, took he to her high,
In little time, my fire was fifth alarm,
And Cairo felt her heat as sure did I.

In ectasy, I paused to roll the dies,
Just as I fell in love between her thighs.
     © Ron Wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Details | Arabic Poem | |

sun on brick

line against the wall
fat birds too wrung out to drive
later, rooms' sweet ease

Details | Arabic Poem | |

My Love Story

et me begin the amorous tale of my love 
story,
In seven of ages a heartrending pillory,

With maximum make believe of childhood 
love,
Cycling after her with no worry,

To the taste of truffles and muffin,
Felt her each wave sweet to savory,

On slide following her with peeping eyes,
Seeking a vivacious look till I touched the 
teen glory,

With shorthanded life and full of misery,
Couldn’t even bought a gift or flowery,

But could promise to honor love for life,
And this ain’t false statement of 
stipulatory,

At mid of twenty two, with smashing and 
evaporating love,
Still remembered cherish liped smile of 
amatory,

ory,

And snake of love has now bitten my 
heart,
The anti-dote is her smile whether it might 
be illusory,

Hence the feelings pining and revolving in 
mind,
As gravitation, influence everything 
stimulatory,

In cold night with shattering fog and 
cracking leaves
Shahid is right here with a flowery and 
Sorry.

Shahid Ch.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

Ranting At A Dead Man

Why’s that man gotta dog that cat,
that man’s got no right to dog that cat?
That cat’s name is Arafat,
that’s why that man’s gotta dog that cat.
Why’s that man gotta dog that cat,
gotta dog that cat named Arafat?
Arafat, he killed Jew babies,
he tried to kill them all and I don’t mean maybe.
That’s why that man’s gotta dog that cat,
gotta dog that cat named Arafat.
Arafat, he killed Jew babies?
Man that’s just downright crazy!
So go ahead man and dog that cat,
dog that cat named Arafat.
That Arafat, he’s no cat,
Arafat is a big fat rat.
So go ahead man and dog that rat,
dog that rat named Arafat.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

My Best Teacher

I had some very good primary school teachers who were awesome 
But in all my schooling, one of my college instructors stood out to be super awesome

In our first day of class we all sat on a beautiful mat that she had acquired from one of her travels to a middle eastern country
Then we drank tea in tiny little cups
This is a welcoming gesture that she had learnt from her travels
This special gesture always reminds me of the book Three Cups of Tea
We were about twelve students, about five minorities 
It was called World Studies

That little gesture brought all of us closer

On our last day of class we had an international potluck where we each brought food from our different cultures and ethnic backgrounds
Am sure God was smilling on that day as he watched us try each other's foods and learn about each other through it

I remember a story she told us of how she wore a niqab to her church and stood by the door as a greeter
She talked of how most people avoided her direction, some not even looking at her

She was this petite white woman
She had travelled to twenty something countries worldwide doing missionary work
She had walked on soils where women were regarded inferior and unworthy 
She had put her hands during her missions, in places where white people were loathed

But even with some of the dire situations she found herself into, she still had that caring and loving heart

I remember the projects we did for refugees 
Another of her many passions
She provided healthcare, education and assisted with basic needs acquisitions for them

I learnt that we can all sit down, have a cup of tea, put down our differences and accept each, 
to make this world a peaceful place

Details | Arabic Poem | |

A DESTINY TO MEET A HUMBLE BOSS

The Grace of Allah be with you always
That fateful day, we met in the Philippines
A short interview and you said okay
An agreement that was a way to begin

Appreciate your kindness like brother
No barrier between us and for all
True humility brings you closer to others
Promotes well-being is your ultimate goal

Many times I stepped to ask for your aid
You stepped up to be prudent and sensible
Always speak in gentle tone and well said
Your leadership is such exceptional

To me, to others you are a true friend
Your kind-heartedness will always remind


23 October 2014

Details | Arabic Poem | |

lol submitted this for my writer's craft class

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou can buy drinks at McD’s for a buck,
Wait, that means thou never want to pay,
Thou went to see a psychic for good luck.

Sometime too hot thou think thou are at clubs,
The ways you act embarrass all thy friends ;
And when we need to drag thou out of pubs,
We hope thy hot behaviour will soon end.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Especially in winter when thou wear;
Shorts too short with legs far too displayed,
“Oh my god, I can see her underwear,”

Thy “summer’s” kind of ratchet after all
Thy friends will wait until you turn to fall.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

HARSH VOICE

HARSH VOICE

I sing the song eternal
A crackling, cackling broomstick sweep
Why?

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
A squirt of the old oil can
Clears up the voice for Tin Man

No Yellow Brick Road this life
No wizard in some enchanted castle
And I ask again, why?

This world no Disney tune
Or intoxicated lovers humping ‘neath the moon
I ask the question eternal, why?

Life sucks,
Then you die

I roar, cough at these clichés
As the voice grows weaker

Oh, to laugh in its face
The atheist finally calls on Jesus
No disgrace

Dave Austin

Details | Arabic Poem | |

HARSH VOICE

HARSH VOICE

I sing the song eternal
A crackling, cackling broomstick sweep
Why?

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
A squirt of the old oil can
Clears up the voice for Tin Man

No Yellow Brick Road this life
No wizard in some enchanted castle
And I ask again, why?

This world no Disney tune
Or intoxicated lovers humping ‘neath the moon
I ask the question eternal, why?

Life sucks,
Then you die

I roar, cough at these clichés
As the voice grows weaker

Oh, to laugh in its face
The atheist finally calls on Jesus
No disgrace

Dave Austin

Details | Arabic Poem | |

Well, Well, Well

What do we have here?
Two firm feet, with arms to bear.
Fifty horses to get up there.
A hundred times, ten thousand faces.
Say you're welcome, please.

The strong will seize, 
If the flow will keep.
Put forty-five, frown
On a page,
Like sheep.

Can I buy you, uh...
Have you been many places?
Do you liken us to trees?

Say hello and give a tear,
Spend time up there,
Then look down.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

SALAM SAHUR

the forest where birds are singing
the river where fishes are swimming
the sea where every creatures are living
in the air where birds are flying

every living and that of non-living
all are created by Him
including the freedom of people
the freedom to independence
and own governance and country

let not the men dictate Allah
surely they never know
what Allah knows
salam sahur
on the third day

i love you Allah
layag sug!

Details | Arabic Poem | |

MY CREATOR

Fetus formed.
Embryo became.
A girl baby I am.

My creator I do not know.  Procreation states that ovum and sperm conceives.  My question is how does this evolve – from God?

We are told there are ninety-nine names given to the omnipotent.  Let us take a walk.

Imagine a vision that all us possess of The Almighty.
He states, oh I know you call me God, the Lord, Jehovah.
Some call me Allah.
I tell you that all these names make no difference.
I am your creator.

The creatures of the Earth are animals.
The beings are my people.
You are of the greater intellect and animals’ spirituality is their understanding.
The world is ritualize to both.
Each knows their subsistence.
Affluence is all way of life divided for profusion.

Prey...
Work...
Both have no indifference to a certain extent.
I am of man and I am the eyes of animal.
Life will form.
______________/

From this visualization, what knowledge did I received; that my creator is ovulation and conception.  This is an ascertain principle that in the beginning my creator gave me life that formed within modern time.

Details | Arabic Poem | |

Arabic Proverb

"He murders and then walks in the funeral procession."

You ask me why the tears
Why the sad face
And inside I laugh
At your gull in asking
When you know full well
You are a murderer
And yet
You walk in the funeral profession of my heart
Wailing and mourning
Dressed in black
Crying tears made of glass
Manufactured perfection
Each “drop”
shattering as it hits the ground
A sound
Only I hear

You eulogize me
Speaking of my wonderful traits
What made me the beautiful woman
Everyone loved and wanted to be with
Everyone but you
Everyone but YOU saw my real beauty
The crimson glory of my robe
The scent of my being
YOU saw the thorn
Yet today
You call me a rose

You ask me why I weep
You ask me why I mourn
You murdered my heart
Yet you walk in the funeral procession
The last laugh is on you
For after 3 days
I will rise again

I need to rest in this tomb
Before I see the light of day
Before I awake to newness of life
But alas...
ALAS...
You will not be there
To witness
My resurrection day.

Eileen Manassian

Details | Arabic Poem | |

SPEED - JOURNAL XII

SPEED – JOURNAL XII

It’s hard to keep up

The world is
changing so fast
On the news, fast
talkers
We ancients need
motorized walkers
 
What once was
considered speed
reading
      has,
apparently, become
the norm
Eyes travel slowly
over familiar
phrases
These trigger
memories, disturb
concentration
Lines disappear
prematurely

Fiction-wise, there
are, for us
experienced sages,
      no new plots
Even the variations
are multi=traveled
All interest fades
in a fetid pool of
boredom

Film producers are
wise to the
over-taxed plot
And try to stimulate
public interest with
fast-
      moving, noisy,
violence
Which manages to
lack any sort of
      sensible
organization
No, all is chaos, at
least to us old
timer’s tastes

In these last few I
shall try to harvest
those few
      inner moments
Which stir a sort of
over all activity
 This I call
faking-oneself-out 


        


Details | Arabic Poem | |

Concerto of the Enchanting Night

Concerto of the Enchanting Night
 Arabic Poem by: Fadhil Aziz Farman *
 Translated Into English by:
 Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
 =========================

You suggest the songs
And leave me deep
In the splendor of the rhythm and melody. 
Drag my day out of the dream to wakefulness 
I have not known 
But the philosophy of dreams 
In all my days.

You suggest the songs
And leave me floating in a wave of fragrance 
Showered down By Lynol Ritchie 
With his love songs 
Or by Yanni with his tunes.
 
And dance
Do the tango 
Do the waltz 
Do the ballet or the jerk dance
Dance as you please 
Or spin around the Earth-pole,
O symbol of amazing taste, 
Rouser of lightning in the sky,
And crown of all beauties.
 
Here I am intoxicated
By the melody pulsating in your figure 
And by the bashful roses 
On your cheeks,
O sweet wine in my chalice and my vats.
 
You suggest the songs
And at the end of the round
Put your head on my chest, 
O child of my poems, 
And listen to my heart singing them 
With the virgin tears of joy 
Flowing down the violin’s cheek.
 
You suggest the songs
You suggest the melody 
And hint the sweet words
They’ll come to you 
Then hold me to your chest like a child.
I will need your ear 
To whisper to you 
All that baffles my heart 
And my tongue 

You suggest the songs
And strew them
Such as roses 
On the desert of my life.
What remains for us 
Of all our years, 
But joy
Strewn like roses
And like dew
On the seconds? 
********* 
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 USA
 * Fadhil Aziz Farman is a poet from Iraq
 ---------------
 The original poem in Arabic https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10202962662165969&set=p.10202962662165969&type=1&theater