Poem | |
What sort of a mother am I
Who cannot even count
the innumerable bullet wounds
spread all over the delicate body
of her beloved child
However, day and night
I keep counting
the myriad of marks
left by the terrorists' bullets
on his school bag;
I will also keep counting
the innumerable shot wounds
that spread all over
his blood-stained books and uniform as well
provided I have the luck
to live until then.
(translation by mazHur Butt)
STA PA BADAN K DA GOLO NAKHO TA,
CHA HADO PRE NAKHODAM
CHE MA SHMARALLY KHO WAY
STA PA BASTA K DA GOLO NAKHY HUM KHEY DERY WAY
ZEH TOLA WRAZ YE SHMARAM
STA KITABUNO AU KAPO K NAKHY
HAGHA BA HUM SHMARAMA
KHO K JWANDAI PATY SHOM
( Pa 16,December da yo shaheed bachi da Mor sanda)
16 December ko shahadat pany waly aik Bachy ki Maan ka Nooha..
Mein kesi maa'n hoo'n
goliyoan ke nishaan
jism nazuk per tere
ay meri aankh ke taaray
gin-nay ka izn
mila hee nahi
haan magar shumaar karti hoon
subh o roz
tere bastay pe lage
golion ke ghaO beshumaar
tere kaproan aur kitaboan per bhi jo hein
zaalimoan kee golion ke beshumaar nishaan
tere pak khoon se labraiz
mein unhein bhi gin-na chahti hoon
aur gin hee loon gee unhein
agar zindagi ne wafa kee.
Mein Ik maa'n hoon,
(translation by mazhar butt)
More great poems below...
Poem | |
Lick these writings of mine
Let my ink stain your taste buds
Can you stand the taste of my pain?
Wounded by the sharpness of thy mind i bleed continually- my ink is
The words of my qull flow from my vein
I'm standing below the poverty line
Will manna fall from above?
There's no nourishment in the rain
The freedom I search for is yet to find
I want to be free like a dove
Free my brain from the mental chain
Racism should be once up on a time
Pour me hate and i dilute it with love
Hate me with passion- what's your gain?
Poem | |
I’m thankful for slaves who never could understand, “Why do I work for people and get less than the bare minimum wage?”
Why do I go through the pain and suffering if there’s no gain for my family or me? My greats never were a boss and rarely knew who their family was so why live this life if it wasn’t free to be?
My roots nurtured the seeds who helped create opportunities; if we as the people could see how they lived maybe we would be stronger minded people rather than living like we have no sense
We are a culture that is talented in so many ways but we want to be the target of a negative headline news story.
We already seen shackles on our feet, slavery, segregation, and racism against our peace, so why do we still act as if we can’t change the way people perceive us to be
We are not going to blame it on our past because they gave us freedom to see so why can’t we exploit this and live the true meaning of the land of the free
Disregard the negative news and set yourself apart change the way you act so others can see a fresh start
If we started from the bottom now where here isn’t that living proof we can do anything besides spend money on material things but invest in the future or non-profits to help others to build something and have a heart
We can’t just stay a struggle we have to be humble take over the government and make change not think we high class and go to jail for spending money or getting caught up for the wrong things
Set a strong example for these homeless, gangs, prostitutes, and dealers because they are suffering and have only 2 choices that put us on the news headline story in jail or death coming soon
As we lift up those who make a change on the streets or on Capitol Hill we are happy these people are creating an Underground Railroad to victory without suffering and hopefully this stand is coming to all my people to
We got to take charge in numbers instead of sit back all for nothing
If you better yourself from how others use to see you maybe you can see the roots that can help make the change for you as others grow in this thing called a root lifting cycle. Respect the roots.
Poem | |
For you I would drain the ocean blue
fight it's fearsome monsters too
Sail a ship smashing stormy seas
buy the bank giving you the keys
For you I would slap a tiger in it's cage
dance bare naked upon a public stage
Knock mighty mountains down to gravel
across barren deserts swiftly travel
For you I would totally change my life
cut my own throat with razor knife
Dive headfirst into a bottomless dark pit
do anything , anything but commit!
For you sweet baby, anything but commit!
Robert L. 05-28-2014
Travelled that road for 8 years as a young man between marriages...
Greatly fearing to commit because it meant opening my heart to
a possible future unbearable pain again. It took a miracle for me
to overcome and right on time 21 years later I got blind-sided again.
Live and learn...
Poem | |
Here in violence and in beauty, living under the same moon
The beauty is so ancient, but the present violence here consumes
On one hand Afghanistan is all that it appears
Insurgents here are so deadly; through the land they spread fear
But a turn of that coin, would reveal a much different side
A land which contested the Great Alexander, and ruled by Shahs with pride
With its mighty Hindu Kush, and many rivers at hand
The graveyard of countless empires, its resistance that spans
The brave here fight hard, a fierce gamble, with their inheritance of wealth
Battling the Taliban with an opulence of old grit, using the hands they were dealt
Keeping Kandahar, Herat, Mazar-i Sharif, and the capital -Kabul
Free from tyrannical domination, oppressed by Taliban rule
I’m in awe of these courageous Afghans, this country has come far
This is the Afghanistan which I see, who else will share where they are?
This poem was inspired by "Under The Same Moon" a three way collaboration by Poet Destroyer A, Chris D.Aechtner, and NIKKO P..
Written DEC 2013 in Afghanistan
More great poems below...
Poem | |
Suppose I was your inner self
the one so determined to fall,
you wake each day with a frown on your face
blaming it on all others after all.
But suppose this person fell from oneself
became a shadow to leave behind,
Could you or would you find happiness
leaving old memories on the sidelines.
Honestly with life so short why take part
in hiding in misery day after day ,
why fold yourself into a crumbled mass
yet crying within of needs deteriorating away.
Tell me how hard do you work
to make others see your pain ,
for maybe they would understand why
if you was trying to be whole once again .
Arms reach out and you slap them away,
makes you once again embracing your pain .
to refuse the help sent your way,
and you refuse again and again.
What is so bad you cant come clean
to find life is what we make it to be,
What is so woven into your mind
where even your shadow has become unkind.
Poem | |
A Welsh New Year
The night's dark shadow
creeps softly over the sky.
Dark, soft fingers pull slowly at the light,
fully engulfing it into it's dark mass.
The wind whips off the sea.
Snatching and releasing,
pushing and pulling.
Rough and unforgiving.
Wild as our hearts,
beating quickly in the night.
The wooden walls groan in around us.
deeply into the cliff.
A yearning spirit hides in anticipation
behind each eye,
quivering in excitement and childish glee.
one scuttling figure jumps from the couch
and out the door.
We chase him,
fleeting feet and unruly rain jackets,
across the courtyard and towards the wild sea.
The wind's intensity grows with the seconds.
when we reach the light.
giant and glowing.
The sea roars far below us
and the wind thrashes and screams in our ears.
I feel as if it could lift me off my feet
and carry it as far as it pleased.
Clinging tightly to whoever is closest,
we stand in silent awe.
But it only last one flickering moment,
before we're dashing back
to the warm safety of the indoors.
But when the morning comes,
and all putter around the kitchen,
little fragments of the night still remain.
A crumpled flag of the living room floor.
Muddy shoes scattered
on the cold entranceway.
The quick sprawled footprints in the sand.
And a lone wine-glass of water,
on a disheveled bedside table.
Gentle smiles pass through the house,
and the steady sea beats rhythmically on.
Poem | |
A poor little boy named Stinky McGee.
His problem, he'd fart whenever he'd pee.
His Mama fed him beans.
And you know what that means.
He was worried he'd fart the kind you'd see.