Best Martyrs Poems
The month of August brings with it memories of the Beirut blast. Beirut is once again under attack. I wrote this poem as a tribute.
The Rape of Lebanon
My darling, Lebanon, do not be fooled
What they feel for you is lust and not love
You're scented cedars and your hills, bejeweled
make you a piece of heaven from above
You soil has soaked the blood of martyrs brave
Your claim of independence is not true
The blast at port took loved ones to the grave
Now rumblings of war are coming through
The lust of nations will not let you be
They'll strip you of your clothes, and each by turn
will take their fill, ignoring plaintive plea
They'll take and take, and then they'll let you burn
Your beauty is the cause of your demise,
and though you try to hide your naked form,
you're still exposed to greedy, hungry eyes
There's no escape from rapists' brutal storm
And what of us who live in your embrace,
who've loved you long and stayed right by your side?
We grieve to see your foes try to efface
your name and history, the nation's pride
Withdraw your hands! Let Lebanon be free!
Don't fight your wars upon her blessed lands!
You sabotage her bid for liberty
Her innocence is marred by traitors' hands
Oh, Lebanon, our tears will not suffice
We see you ravaged time and time again
You are the victim made to pay the price,
and though you try, you can't remove their stain
I weep, to see what they have done to you
I've heard the sound of blasts rip you apart,
and yet I know no matter what they do,
they cannot still your precious beating heart
My darling, Lebanon, you must be strong,
You are beloved of God, of this I'm sure
Our Savior will one day right every wrong
His blessed grace will help you to endure
Be strong. Be brave. Be courageous.
My darling, Lebanon, please...be at peace.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Their blood was spilled
Your church was built
But to them it never occurred
To deny the Word
Of Truth that set them free
Assuming of Heaven to be.
Even joyful singing was heard
You, their Lord, they preferred
Their church buildings burned
But not one turned
They were spurned
For what they said,
"Jesus is raised from the dead".
Yet, hope through them was bred
Hope that there is the Way
To our Creator's heart that day
When Jesus the price had to pay
Out of love for us He freely gave
His life laid down the Way did pave
Fasting, not counting the cost
To the wind all fear is tossed
Sleepless, just to pray
Trusting Jesus day by day
Seeing miracles by His name
To own or not, it's just the same
Freedom from sin and guilt
On this the Faith is built!
Keeping in the Bible of His Word
They rest and eat, love preferred
To life itself
His truth puts all else on a shelf
Forgotten, all forgiven
In Him, their Heaven!
Sunset, before dark ... you broke your promise
Forging a Japanese sushi knife ready for attack
Days which is controlled by negative conventional thinking
It does not work to knock on every door when you fall
Fear and suffering, human threat is not necessarily death
When the wind blows, hungry wolves respond
But the wolf shall not be killed with a lie or broken promises
In the dark a shadow of a face of misery
It makes me doubt what you're thinking
When bitterness becomes your best friend
The black sun is an overwhelming image
Like the ocean in the storm with foam of transparent suffering
No one has the right to kill "in the name of religion"
17-04-2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
The Blood of Martyrs
“He stood aloof the ***** youth
What of his future?”
Peter Abrahams
When the guns thunder
In Cameroon or Côte-d’Ivoire
In Mali or Burkina Faso
Limitless martyrs
Disappear!
Beads of blood still pearling
Running from the martyrs’ hot bodies
I vainly ask to know:
Why are the ill-stricken dictators so greedy
And their peoples so eloquently silent?
Gabon- Togo-Cameroon- Tunisia- Egypt-
Zimbabwe-Burkina Faso
What is going on?
What of our time? What of man?
Nothing but words.
Words of those who see with
Somebody’s eye
Or
Those who have gained
Nothing of their heritage
If not Samory’s puzzle.
Meanwhile
The spring keeps growing
Swallowing creeds to bear greeds
In spite of Ebola and the wars
In spite of Aids killing thousands of people
In spite of the minority who with the help
Of the majority eat from the fruit
Of the majority’s vote
In spite of growing desert….
N’Gaoundéré, 16th February 2010
Their fiery blossoms swayed against the sky
In breezy weather and Mama and I
played games, describing how
the long, gold-tipped pistils wrote,
on air, sweeping pollen poems.
No eye that saw could help but read.
Their blooms were red against the green,
And in the early morning wet we deemed
We saw the blood of homegrown heroes,
Who died for duty, deftly limned ---
Dreams to occupy two minds
That loved the moves, in wind,
Of red hibiscus past their primes.
Fires burning, burning bright.
Not for warmth or even light.
Burning flesh seared to the bone.
Was this the sense of martyrdom?
Mary Tudor was the Queen,
return of Popery her dream.
Henry's child without a doubt,
her fathers deeds to turn about.
Men and women, loosing life,
butchers son and bakers wife.
Bishops, clerics, Lords and sires,
Not one spared the holy fires.
Thomas Cranmer was her aim,
he caused her mother so much pain.
Anne Boleyn's most errant knight,
causing Mary's own sad plight.
Hooper, Ridley, Cranmer too,
English folk, all good and true.
All subsumed to appease her bile,
sacrificed on the stakes woodpile.
Fourteen score souls finally died,
entering the flames with pride.
Heretics, each and every one.
Assured of joining God's own son.
As death became well-nigh routine,
The people cried God Save the Queen.
But they, in their hearts, were wary,
amongst themselves called her Bloody Mary.
One who has died for
his motherland,
Is suppose to live
zestly in Eden land,
For what he did and
finally got,
They are not dead,
alive at best a lot,
And to His
(Almighty) mercy and
beneficence,
Who has bestowed him
with this
magnificence,
And lo, at grave
what he still
yearns,
To go back and fight
again and again to
earn,
A splendid and
gorgeous wreath of
success,
For what he had done
and finally possess,
One who has died for
his country so,
It's become the
place of harmonious
grow,
Almighty endow this
particular status,
As Martyrdom is not
a wish of gratis,
Don’t call them gone
and dead,
They all are our
assets, who lead,
And defend this
country land to
best,
And face sprinkling
bullets at their
chest,
So shahid utter
utmost sighs and
suspiration,
For all martyrs, as
they are the source
of inspiration.
Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry
The agony of the forty fourth fallen martyrs
Of our noble and bravest men
The sound of testimonial heartaches of nowhere scenes
Guns of distraught
Guns of unaware feelings
Guns of twenty one heroic means
We salute the inevitable tied up courage of our kins
Now the tragedy happened of unprepared masks
Now it was a cold blasts
Like an ice to dust
It seems so gigantic beginnings
Of yes to peace
Mournful days of no one could ever ceases
How it felt to broke in the end by a doleful mess
The agony of the forty fourth fallen martyrs
Now it became a history
Of the world's largest tragedy
Of war and technology
Beyond time, beyond what we see
Or beyond what we never expected to be
Like were struggling in the unfathomable sea.
… & the ma-sters
of arro-glance
blew up faces
of in-dignity
slapping the honesty
out of the national-ism
of the fore-found-sters
of this ni-ger-stands!
& we stood still
still! still like the grave
of the masses of hungry-sters
& angry martyrs of my niger …
Form:
Such an ethereal beauty.
Petite in size but large on life.
One would not expect its duty
is solely for procreation.
Yes, just this one, and nothing more,
certainty is its life’s station.
Swarming thick as oozing slurries,
males hover above clear water.
Intrigued, the young female hurries.
Emerging the gray mass, nightmarish,
lays her eggs, then crumples lifeless.
The males sail to land and perish.
The beauty – a perfect cycle –
Perfect in the frantic frenzy,
the primal sinless spiral.
The process an unforgiving
two-year metamorphosis for
one day of long, lusty living.
War in the street
faces marred by defeat
crying
yet they’re fighting
still kicking and biting
where is the truth
they’re refusing
can’t you see
humanity is losing?
sapphires seeking retribution
today’s victims of persecution
battle for amnesty
road blocked
by futility
just another excuse
for senseless brutality
the many
are the few voices allowed
martyrs paving ways
brave and proud
risking their lives
for the benefit of future generations
placing themselves on shelves
for the sake of their children's salvation
this is the life
they're still choosing
can't you see
humanity losing?
today they fall
bludgeoned again
in defeat
yet
there’s a brighter tomorrow
for this bloodshed today
in the street
~JSLambert
© 2012 JSL
*First Place*
"WHAT I BELIEVE IS WORTH FIGHTING FOR!" Poetry Contest
sponsored by: Frank H.
Martyrs
Is it too late to show the martyrs LOVE?
To soak their sadness in bleach awhile?
Will they never turn back?
The weight of desperate ideology
a magnet that pulls a heart
that lost one too many battles
For some kind of THRILL
For some kind of PURPOSE
Soaking their conscience in
a stranger’s blood
What do they have to lose?
What do they have to gain?
All they know is a sitcom existence,
empty pockets and pain
The weak attach to the strong
for a piece of the glory
Another dream dead
Another atrocity committed
Sounds like the same old story
You established the pillars of courage.
Joined the edifices of steadfastness.
You left behind the legacy of true committment.
Left behind the legacy of pious struggle.
You formed the refined way.
The way to the goal; Freedom!
With your each drop of sacred blood,
You framed the path of true Resilience.
With your voice,
You gave us confidence.
The confidence to fight,
Against Injustice and Oppression.
We miss your righteous existence.
As well your celebrated Resistance.
Our generations of generations salute you.
For they got ultimate inspiration from you.
I stand under a blank slate,
A wide expanse of nightscape.
The moth circles the light source
The dimming lightbulb flickers once.
I swirl alone in peace.
I prefer to breathe in silence.
I discern a brief distinction
Between destiny and descent
Between satire and dissent.
Between repentance and regret.
I dig between the lines
Until the dirt beneath my nails
Reveals to I and I
Like a nail unto my palm,
Like the moth circling the light
Waiting to devour my death.
English Martyrs
As we were preaching, praying,
sharing Gospel, we were arrested,
tried for treason and executed
for sharing Jesus’ faith and his signs of graces.
We were priests, apostles, prudent men.
We lived in times where it was a crime
to celebrate Eucharist, say the Mass,
to participate in sacraments as if they were bad things.
Eucharist, nourishment of the soul,
which cleanses venial sins.
Who has the power over man conscience,
over Ethics and freedom?
Who can make crime out of a belief?
Corrupt monarch indeed.