Best Arabic Poems | Poetry
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My days and my nights -- translation from my Arabic poem
by Chiang, Christy
by al-riyami, sajdah
Ummi (mom in arabic)
by Merahi, Nassira
View all new Arabic Poems
The Best Arabic Poems
gasp for breath
vessels of poetry
love floats above the sea
tides of sadness
planted in marshlands
living for words
no longer matters
I embrace my brother
love his might
standing on cliffs ledge
gazing this new morn
softly I whisper
we are one
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018
We are so different
I am smart, you are less so
I am a man, you are a woman
I am trump, you are poor
I am beautiful, you live in a sewer
I have castles, you’re lucky to have drawers
I am peaceful, you are the extremist
I have armies, you have child suicide bombers
I have coffee, you have tea
See the difference between you and me?
I wear clothes under my head, you wear masks over
I sing songs in my sanctuary, while you chant the jihad
I have my god who is righteous; you have a god that sings of terror
My god is great, yours is a fraud
I ride in a limo, you ride a gay camel
I drink fine whiskey, you smoke camel fags
We you see… are as different
As night is to day
As sun is to moon
As Cain is to Abel
I own the castle you live in the stable
Goats and hogs your only staple
Now when we were in the hospital
Me so much better than you, you see
Both our sons sick of leukemia
You being so different and less than me
You cried, and you wept, and you wished yourself dead
If your child should live, you'd give all you ever had
Its then I saw, I’d do exactly the same
When you offered me a tissue
I confess I felt a wee little shame
Whatever hate you may or may not have had
Lifted, when you saw the child was your only lad
And when I saw this humble startling revelation
I realized how narrow and condescending I was behaving
So maybe we both learned a lesson of Job
A pity such sadness and pain had to bring
The realization to us both
We are not so different after all
We now drink tea in the olive gardens
Telling the young if they chose to listen
There is a better path, of happier wisdom
By embracing your fellow man
No matter race, color or convictions
Start with a smile
Make it last more than a mile
Great things happen
When us, the people take action
Of this world
Thank you Charmaine for the constant inspiration!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
A tent of brightly coloured wool
Along an effervescent pool
Filled with deliciously cool streams
This would last a week and I would surely weep
For in my sorrows, I made haste
Beneath a bleak sky adorned with clouds of thought
Menacing a downpour of grief
I left the bosom of my camp
And could not recall my steps
The fierce winds of the desert deleted my trail
As the winds of time would delete my memory from all that ever beheld me
The clouds of thought once again embraced my mind and etched on the bleak skies a certain name
A name sweeter than sweetness itself
With a velvety texture surpassing that of silk
A name that transcended the barren plains dancing around on the tongues of angels
And stretched to the bitter and sweet seas
It is a name unlike which any man has ever beheld
For though many share it
None could wear it with her grace, borne of the musk of paradise itself
A name that evokes images of beautiful pearls
One that sends shivers down my spine
When I envision her delicate visage
A name that spreads warmth from the core of my soul
Which slowly percolates through my being to the tip of my nose
This name can only be the perfectly sculpted form of -????? whose true beauty transcends that of meaningless words
A mellifluous name when uttered in any tone
It shimmers and shines and radiates brilliantly
Even upon the twisted tongue of the vilest crone
I remember the day when the winds of authority blew on our firm grasp
And whisked her away on the cursed back of an evil black horse
And it is with this heaviness that I thus sink
Into a pitiless lake of anguish
Copyright © Elvis Anagnostopoulos | Year Posted 2017
The skies become loud and dark
Raining bombs upon us
May god protect the civilians
Take away the rest in rivers red
Let the devils blood flow far from us
We stare always to the skies
Our own tears falling
Thus we created our own sea of dreams
Here inside our prison city
Laughter is hidden underneath the bed
My pink lip stick and smile
I have only hope to eat
I have only the future to grasp
Because my death shall soon come to be
Death for forgetting the past
All we could do, living in daily fear
Is swim in our sea of dreams
Only to be drowned with our own blood
Here is my Photo, here is my dream
I lie dead, my dream I leave to you
Dedicated to Nisan Ibrahim who reported and wrote under the alias Ruqia Hassan.
She lived in the city of Raqqa in Iraq and was killed by Daesh around July 2015.
Hassan came from a Kurdish family that was originally from the town of Kobane, Syria, on the Turkish border. The family had at some date relocated to Raqqa.
She was never to find that rest and peace. Maybe she didn't expect to. She wrote the same day: "Our biggest mistake was to swim in a sea of dreams... and we dreamt of the next phase and ignored the current phase... we look at the future and forgot the past... #a mistake we regret."
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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
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
And his 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
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2013
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 is more like a violin.
The sound of Arabic
Flies up and down the scale
In deliciously smooth legato,
Stopping to linger on vibrato;
Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014
All of us
The two of us
The ménage of us
The rain drops fall inside our heads
Just the two of us
Crazy deluded creatures
crawling in the attics of darkness
Breathing, gasping, hold on, hold tight
The air becomes a precious bond
Little one dances in the wind
Precious dreams in white padded rooms
Adam and Eve and serpent roam
The halls of the diabolical
Wondering where I have been?
I am all of you
Mirrors on the wall
Can you not all see?
We are all me and you
Insane inside mindless heads
Gods stolen promises
Contracts broken in the night
Insane we are
All of us
From Adam to Dawn
Holding hands for better days
Dying to be uninsane
Wishing raindrops go up not down
ATEN shall again shower us
With sunny days
Dedicated to someone here who told me once, “I am just…………. Well I say you are just a brilliant poet”
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
As heat bursts around,
silence lets me ponder on,
where I left my phone.
Copyright © Jackson LaBaugh | Year Posted 2016
Today I did stab,
an eraser so white, pure,
it did bleed blue ink.
Copyright © Jackson LaBaugh | Year Posted 2016
Foaming at the mouth
Drowning in each others fears
Off with the masks
Wear your smiles
Give heart and cheerful warmth
Not lectures and verse
Allow us women to converse
Follow the Surahs of compassion
Forgive the Surahs of revenge
Lets all grow red roses in our gardens
So that bombs of blood stop raining
On our children
Sunni and Shia civil wars
From bloodshed to others shores
Christians shout, no more!
Syria the infection
From Russian injection
Where is the west?
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
They took her by force and took it from under our feet They went out
We love and we want, but their weapons in the Muslim Tortured us
Cry day and night, and between their hands do not want to stay
Notifies the sadness calls, every human being by a drop of blood Islam
Youth killed aggression, and an orphanage in the streets of pain
Children of security they want, and the Zionists speak the language of blood
Responsible for watching the war, and organizations suspicion that they are incorrigible Peace
They beat us and tortured us, and armed Dmrona and Okhavona
Moved O Muslims, and all fighters Belongings
What is the value of the life he leads Denied, and of belongings you ban
Enough of humiliation and deadlock, Your cooperation to return You
God is in favor of the right, what you just have to go ahead and fight
O Muslim, there is no saddens blow ......
The higher the oppressor, Fall become more painful .......
Author : Omar Hachmi
Copyright © Omar Hachmi | Year Posted 2014
We were accustomed to read one thousand
And one night in Baghdad...
Tonight the glorious city-sky is sad,
It sounded bang! Bang
Where is my mummy? Where is my dad?
Are they all alive under the cruise wreckage;
Or are they all dead?
The a ‘Rashid city was weeping,
It rained hatred,
It rained prejudiced,
It rained cactus of different shapes,
They're all aliens,
Some were homemade,
They're all colourful,
In blue, in yellow and in red.
Do you still remember brother?
Because if you don't I still do
What the big Satan, Lucifer what he said!
The cross versus the crescent, take it or leave it,
An entire racism by the media was also fed.
Some hidden in a banker,
Others crawling of hunger,
Others demonstrating with anger,
Pale, yellowish faces they all looked bad.
Where is my nation..My Arabity..My Islam ?
Oh...Mutasamahh! Where are my brothers?
Are they all dead???
They called it precise bombing and it was right indeed,
In the heart of the baby-heart
Like the British game of dart,
The arrow hit its target,
It hit it like mad.
Nobody moves a finger,
In the age of Patriot and Stinger,
They all believe in star-wars, economic prosperity,
They all believe in the Pope, pop-star singer,
They all believe that one-day Allah would side with them to defeat,
The neo-Thamud and Aad,
They're all waiting for the coming future Mahdi,
And for the Armageddon battle to be led.
Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015
Shall I undress my wounds?
Expose to you my darkest closet?
Prey tell who would dress my sorry heart
Inside of me
There is fear
You can not feel
Nor can you hear
In snow drifts I sleep
For I lost
All the tears
In the years
Deaf is the violin
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
In the exuberant morning sun
Showcasing the self was an obsession
Cricket swimming jumping very high
Flying the kite high up in the blue sky
In the mellow glee of afternoon
Seeing and waiting is the mind's moon
Around your neck my arms in a loop
Relaxing happily in Poetry Soup
February 15, 2016
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016
Stark naked she slowly shrivelled her exposed vacant mind
shed dry viscous tears and filled the empty river in vain
Exhausted petrified her and the stream her inner self
bared to rugged contraction with one final squeeze flooded
the truth that she floated on sediment nevertheless
17th November 2016
5 times 14 syllables howmanysyllables.com
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016
Morning tea is dark
Like the night behind our house
Where the sun lost its way
And the air did not stop to greet our trees.
We gaze at our place where we sat last night
we'll leave everything behind us
And won't collect the scattered words between the chairs.
Night was long
The candle is dusty and cold like our fingers
Why do we wait for tomorrow
If only to throw our words like pieces of papers
on the table and leave?
Copyright © Khalid Albudoor | Year Posted 2017
Such a disaster
Waking up in the morning
Self- tanning cream
The pride of looking sporty
The mirror pulls face
The poet is in deep water
Saved by low tide
One types of success
When your work brings happiness
And not endless doubt
The loser a man
Who knows he`s incompetent
Yet accuse others
The news I read
Been the same for fifty years
War and film stars
Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016
In the scorching sun of the wild Sahara
Where the dunes shower like The Falling Niagara
And the black scorpion so eager for flesh
Roams the desert as if on African safari
The winds howling in the void wilderness
A dead silence fills the holes of emptiness
A tingling rattle is heard behind a dune
The stinging snake gives a deadly tune
From afar looms a misty mirage silhouette
Lumbering along with blaring clarinet
The music of which gives a poetic hint
That the desert is a sea of sparking glint
The flashes show and hide a caravanserai
Going through the wild in a lined array
Seeking an oasis to unload and sojourn
Before leaving the sands in the next morn
Again the convoy resumes the long voyage
A camel is known as the ship of the desert
Sailing through vast seas of golden sands
With light steps in resolute straight trends
The caravanserai passes and the sands move
The places change and the scorpion does rove
The winds still howl in empty space and loose
A ship has passed has left a wake after a cruise
The flock travels in never ending quest
For water for peace and for the best
Once there is an oasis there we shall rest
The sun of life is burning it is just a test
Copyright © Poetic Flame | Year Posted 2017
If approval is given after confession
What is left for a word to be leaked
Aphrodisiac is not the poet's intention
Carnal pleasures beguile the wicked
Refined rose in her harem veiled
Untouched by libidinous desire
Untouchable, flawlessly settled
A beauty human goddess to admire
Introvert body, but heart is open
Extrovert feeling, by rules shackled
Simple words, their fathoms deepen
A poetic diver she has even disabled
Sacred pure love sent from heaven
Has spelled a poetry beauty beholder
Enshrined in God's poetic temple
Secured rose inside a shady bower
She gracefull bends her head, not lower
Alert to any machiavellian demeanor
On the watchout.yet, not too shielded
For God is her eye, never been misguided
Copyright © Poetic Flame | Year Posted 2018
I look at my reflection wondering if that’s me?
I look at those photos stuck with Prestik on the white walls of my bedroom, and ask myself, is that me?
I stand in front of a mirror for hours, trying to figure out when I turned into such a sickening piece of flesh.
Through my eyes I see nothing but the hideous features and the five hundred and one flaws that have taken over my entire human body,
but through someone else's eyes those flaws are invisible,
and those hideous features, are the prettiest they have ever seen.
Maybe it’s not through your own eyes that you realize your true beauty,
but the way another looks, and sees the beauty that you cannot see.
Copyright © Taluls dovey | Year Posted 2017
She brushed after
She had copious
but had a blind spot
when she ate cadavers
deprived of animation
Copyright © Felix Dennis | Year Posted 2018
The soldiers said
That the boy threw a grenade.
The parents of the boy said
That the soldiers planned to kill him.
This is what happens
When one person
Believes that another person
Is but an animal,
And not human.
People will self-fulfill as animal
And it’s much easier to kill
Especially when you are an animal.
So, this is what really happened that day-
Both sides were right.
The boy walked down the street,
Before dawn, and saw the soldiers,
Who were walking on egg shells
With fear and expectation,
(Of course, they were mere boys themselves).
When the boy saw them look his way,
He reached into his basket
And threw a fresh egg
In their direction.
The boy’s face had just a split second
To crack a small smile
Before the bullet
Shattered his face
And the soldier
Was left with egg on his face
As well, but unfortunately,
Just a split second after he fired the shot.
So, eggs are grenades.
Boys are killers.
And that is when the cock crows
In a Jerusalem morning.
Copyright © Robert Trezise Jr. | Year Posted 2018
She is the bravest my eyes have ever seen
A lion bows, in shiver and fear
I am on my knees for I can not believe
A woman so beautiful, among us she breathes…
I offer this world and everything within to her feet…
I say proudly that I will protect her with fists…
She smiles, then gently she says to me…
I am a woman, strong and I do not need
Protection, for I may seem fragile
But I am stronger than steel…
I do not know what words to speak…
For I desire her love, and love her miserably…
But I have only my heart to offer
And she deserves better than me…
It does not matter that I love her endlessly…
She lives in a world that the devil dreams to flee…
And yet she stands strong with a smile shinning through her lips…
With a laugh musical, poetry to my ears…
She is a brave woman…gentle and free
Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2015
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
Copyright © anasse kamal | Year Posted 2014
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.
Copyright © John Cervone | Year Posted 2013