Best Algeria Poems
President Jacques Chirac
Was laid to rest today and with him
The Europe we loved, the civility and elegance.
Democracy and decency when Paris
pulsed with life.
These days one has to get to the regions
To meet the real French
Paris has been taken over by foreign tongues
Whose demands are not French but
Adoption of the life they lived on
The hinterland, say Pakistan or Algeria
The hope they would integrate and become
Real Parisian was a dream too far.
We have to accept that the old ways are over
Moreover, who knows? It might be better.
Kids dying for diamonds in Sierra Leone,
Innocent civilians killed in Iraq’s warzone.
Indigenous tribes removed from their lands,
Children in the Congo losing legs and hands.
Arms companies still supplying while civilians are dying,
Kids begging on the street while the rich keep buying.
Sex slaves sold, countless stories untold,
So much unnecessary hate in a world that’s so cold.
Shameful, disgraceful racism in South Carolina,
Tens of thousands of baby girls abandoned each year in China.
Discrimination will never disappear, it will always be here,
Numerous Pakistani and Somalian women constantly living in fear.
Diarrheal diseases in Bangladesh, killing over a hundred thousand children each year,
While Libya continues torturing citizens for drinking a beer.
Botswana and Swaziland infested in HIV/AIDS,
In the Central African Republic a Coca-Cola cost more than grenades.
War hysteria in Syria, Kidnapping cases in Nigeria,
Human rights violations in all parts of Algeria.
Endangered tribes in the amazon crying for help but nothing is been done,
And when’s the last time a child in a Brazilian favela had any fun?
Corruption levels in Uzbekistan and Zimbabwe remain at an all-time high,
Shocking and Inhumane laws condemned by the government of Brunei.
Genocide in Darfur, millions dead from starvation in North Korea,
The US military has ruined beautiful Diego Garcia.
Chocolate child slaves whipped for working too slow in the Ivory Coast,
And celebrating thanksgiving is nothing but a genocidal toast.
Poverty is everyone’s responsibility, and it continues to increase,
A violent environment, that’s allergic to peace.
UNITED WE STAND
United, We Stand;
One indivisible African nation,
Nurturing, growing, developing, expanding, impacting, uplifting.
We stand, we tower, we rule.
We are Africa;
Nigeria, Liberia, Algeria,
Zimbabwe, Zambia, Namibia,
Libya, Uganda, Rwanda,
We are one.
United, we stand
To break the bonds
Of corruption and tyranny.
United, we stand
To rout the enemies of our peace.
United, we stand
To build and expand our frontiers.
United, we stand
In pride, dignity, solidarity.
United, we stand
As the unshakable monolith- Kilimanjaro.
We will stand as one
In the midst of a troubled continent.
Our young will soar high,
Our streams will flow wide.
Our flocks will multiply,
Our crops will satisfy,
Our gold will beautify.
Our land, this great land,
This Africa of incredible magnificence will dazzle the world.
Together we join our hands
Standing on the mountain crest;
Black Africans, white Africans,
Joy on our faces,
Looking up, looking far
To the brightness of our rising.
- By Kirsten Okenwa
HARMONY 69
The night of twelfth December `69
knotted together an icy storm wind
that whipped False bay`s waves
to white -frilled blankets.
Thunderclaps against primal rocks
resonated through a ghettoe of glowing tents
on a dark, rough ,bushy patch .
Rising plaintively above the din
of drums and flapping canvas,
creole strains solicited the capricious gods
for a clement Cape .
Love songs , sweet like wine
would even tittilated mermaid`s melons,
stranding them breathless, with tails scaled.
In my sixteenth tempestuous year,
I was sickened and sullied, spoiling for a fight
with that ever- prying, ever-lying police-state
denying us
dividing us
deriding us
ripping us
whipping us
in an all-pervasive racist propaganda storm
Harmony,was forced ethnic relocation right there
in a stamp-size sea-resort next to a stinking dump.
Our yearly anticipated salty baptism,
fouled for a full ten years,
dunked in fascist soil
of a false bay with a real bite….
rubbing coarse salt in our opened wounds
Rubbing it in the flayed
William, my sire, of the black turf belly
Rubbing it in the lashed
Maxie , my ma , of white-on-black graft
Rubbing it in the spurred
Dot Adams, my oracle , of the pearled-truth tongue
imprisoned to a silent ninety-day solitary confinement. .
Yes, a full two hundred scar-studded waxes
avidly saluting the wretched who rose in revolution
drowning exploiters in the oppressed`s precious blood
Algeria whilst raped,unveiling herself,
firing fear into bared French fascism
exploding the myth of a benevolent colonialism.
“Lumumba will guide the Kongo to freedom”
grandpa agitated hopefully as revolutionary Patrice,
our dark prince of peace
died on the bloodied butts
of neo-colonial carbines.
My seven-year heart burst
in anger and pain.
A companiable heart`s balance
tilted with unease at justice , unhinged.
the periodic uprisings of people in far-flung regions
against the arrogance of anglo-saxon imperialism
salted my youth with the tears of broken children,
their blood ever spattering my angry brow.
You are Africa
Every 30 Million km^2
This is you
You are Africa
Every 54 countries and even the 2 disputed
This is you
You are Africa
The birthplace of mankind
Sahelanthropus tchadensis
Australopithecus africanus
Australopithecus afarensis
*****habilis
*****erectus
This is you
You are Africa
Your skin composed of Platinum and Pallidium
Is found embedded in the Rocks of Zimbabwe
From Kilimanjaro came your structure
Both Tall and Mighty you are
From the Sahara came your thick hair
Bushy and Exuberant
As far as Algeria spreads
Is as far as your eyes can see
Your nose smells the Ambergris
As you stroll the coast of Madagascar
Your lips
Your beautiful lips
Resemble those of the Queens that once graced the land of Ethiopia
Your core stands erect
Taller than Mount Mikeno in Congo
The thunderous beat of your heart come from the drums of Ghana
You Hands brushed over Egypt
Thus erecting the Pyramids
Your arms wrap around me
Just like the Nile to East Africa
Your legs originate from Tanzania
Always Migrating when need be
Your feet carried the weight of mankind
You are stronger than the Elephants of Nigeria
So when anyone equivalates your black beauty to sin
Remind them of the richness from Africa you have within
This is you
You are Africa
Africa are you
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.
Freedom movement
Egypt, Algeria, Baharin
people defying iron hand
people on road
for road map of democracy
no to slavery and controls
people dying for rights
that we are enjoying
right since birth till grave
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© Hitendra Mehta
February 2011
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9th Place in Members contest –“ We Aren’t Japanese BUT please”
Sponsored by - Debbie Guzzi
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I scribbled quickly
As they wrote their final exam
Little notes of appreciation
A special individualized message
Thanking each student
For having been in my class
And for bringing me joy
Reminding each one
Of the potential that lies within
For each is a remarkable individual
A personalized message
Of encouragement
And a shared Bible verse
Psalm 37: 4
This was a special class
Made up of pastors
A journalist
An architect
Adults from different walks of life
Some married
Others single
Some shy
Others bold
All wanting to become
Better writers
What an amazing group
My French came in handy
With my students from Algeria
How I loved their French accent
As they tried to pronounce
The bothersome words in English
Leaving a never ending smile on my lips
After they spent an hour writing
I made them pause
To have home baked brownies
I’d made from scratch
Along with a soft drink
A time to relax…
Refreshed
They continued on their essays
And I decorated each note
With stickers
“Great Work”
“Way to Go”
“Excellent”
“You are a Star”
And for the women
Lots of hearts!
I love hearts
They decorate my office
Pillows
Key rings
Earrings
And now
My little notes
Which came straight from my heart
Each one got to exchange the finished essay
For a handwritten note from the teacher
I said with a sheepish grin
“These stickers are not because you are a child….
But…because I am!
I am a child at heart!"
That brought smiles
And a hug from
The journalist from Brazil
“I’m going to cry,” she said.
As she gave me a bear hug
My heart sang
They had learned to love writing
What greater joy could be mine?
The Brazilian journalist
Met me in church last Sabbath,
Gave me another warm hug and said,
“Teacher, thank you for the note
You inspired me to do my best.”
And what she couldn’t articulate well
Sparkled in her eyes
And danced in her hand motions
Silly little stickers
Simple little words
A whole lot of love
Love for my students
EVERYONE needs some encouragement
Everyone needs to know
That inside the heart resides
A wealth of beauty longing to be expressed
A piece of the soul that longs to live forever
In the written word
I thank God I’m a teacher
After all,
I’m in good company
For, the GREATEST Teacher of all time
Jesus Christ
Is my mentor!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The Gay Son.
They locked me in a room in a house I knew
They told me my father was a tyrant.
How was I to know? My old dad is a nice man
gave us everything we wanted.
I have left this house knew of a secret exit,
joined my mother and we fled to Algeria.
I’m not a warrior, like my brother, I hate guns
and posing in uniforms.
My sister has just given birth to a baby girl
and that’s nice; I will never be a father and
if my dad knew the reason his tough warrior
ideology would have hurt him deeply.
I know they will kill my old man, he knows too
much about the new rulers to let him live;
after all, many of them did his bidding. Me?
They will surely string me up for being gay.
THE AL-ANDALUS QUARTET: PART FOUR
ALMERÍA / UMM AL-MARIYA 2007 AD / 1427 AH
The traveler who journeys to the City of Almería
arrives at a port where the routes of the ferries,
the whitecaps and waves, the salt-leaden gusts in
the searing white heat, the sculptures of dolphins
manifested at play on the boulevard perpendicular
to the sterns of great ships, reveal windows and
mirrors in which every reflection is a perplexing
distortion, generating questions impossible to
answer with the images at hand
Ciudad Almería is Umm Al-Mariya,
A city with barrios named Al-Musalá, Al-Medina,
Al-Haud, where visionary souls at the College of
Architects draw invisible lines from the markets of Fez
the minarets of Essaouira to the courtyards and gardens
of an Andalusia making paradise landscapes of red tiles
and roses, wrought-iron and jasmine, and burbling
fountains as seductive as the curvature of Arabic script;
where every dark eye under every headscarf, under
every skull cap, beneath flat-brimmed sombreros and
every dark curl blowing free in the breezes between
mountains and sea, sees only itself colored café con
leche, burned walnut by sunlight, yet never identical to the
likenesses imagined when they think of themselves;
and where luminous women with irresistible smiles
think in African tongues and laugh loudly in public, look
you straight in the eye and in their accented Spanish
offer no explanation for the browning of Spain
The intelligent observer see ships every day
link Morocco and Algeria with Al-Andalus, their
sleek silhouettes mimic seabirds and dolphins,
their windows and lights and the curves of their hulls
a mosaic of facets which, distorted by water, make city
and the sea seem a shimmering collage taunting resident
and visitor with fragmented images of who he once was
and who she might become, but never an inkling of
who they are now!
Emanuel Carter
Weep not Africa
Cradle of civilization
I created you on a Monday morning
You are no less my first born
Than other races
Though other nations might scorn and despise you
You are the heir to my throne
Have you ever stopped to look inward?
How long will you continue to ignore
The beauty that lies within?
I have planted nature in you
Your greenness no man can take away
I have bestowed you with endless sunshine
I have made your land more fertile than any other
I have endowed you with some of the world's
Greatest mineral resources
Who planted the gold and diamond in South Africa?
What about the oil in Nigeria and Algeria?
What about the cocoa in Ghana?
And the rich coffee in the East?
Weep not Africa
Unity and selfless service are what exalts a nation
Look how much was pillaged from you
Where did they not plunder?
But I have replenished you
Africa! Yours is a well that never runs dry!
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
I was qualified in middle eastern history,
which was a waste at the chemist it seemed to me,
however, I saw an advert to become a spy,
Instead of media, thought that I would give it a try.
I had a light brown colour, useful for blending scenery,
knowledge of languages should make me fit in perfectly;
they asked me tricky-dicky questions - was I C - of - E,
I said that I was whatever they wanted me to be.
Soon, I was monitoring 'traffic,' to and fro from Syria,
Yemen, Afghanistan, Iraq, Tunisia, Luton and Algeria;
Forget the romance - no time to look at my ornaments,
even missing tv - 'Holby City' and 'Eastenders' instalments.
One day I woke up and thought that I was dead,
moments later, I felt a cold steel at the back of my head.
Biography
I have tried to make a biography of myself
I managed three pages and found my life was so boring
it was not worth the effort.
I began fantasizing I had been a general in the foreign legion
worked in central Africa as in security agent
finding out of people who wanted a free country and not influenced
by Franc`s interest in the region.
Unfortunate people were thrown into jail and some of them executed.
I helped France installing presidents who took bribes
and followed the will of the French.
Later on, Paris, I got information that someone was trying
to assassinate the De Gaulle, they were disgruntled officer that had
fled Algeria when France gave it independence, by doing so
was to make the region a Francophone sphere.
As an agent, I reported this the crazy generals went through with it
and an attempt on De Gaulle´s life followed.
Of course, the plot was thwarted and the guilty shot.
I got bad conscience about my work left the legion and got a job as a cook in the merchant navy, and that is nothing to write about.
Be strong, breed of mum!
For with them you won't find a bliss.
They will make sure you lack and miss.
They will even be counting
the sips of water you drink.
They want you to stumble and fall
And only them the sound and strong.
They have got no word of honor
No respect and no hope of being temid.
With them in darkness you will remain
And come hell or high water
They will sort you out false and wrong.
They may look carat 18 of gold,
But they are only plated and fake.