Let my life for you sacrificed
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Come and intercede to this helpless servant
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Faithfuls suffer in this earth a lot
Hereafter there will be plesure and enjoyment
From eighteen thousand worlds' selected
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Traveler of seven leveled skies
Above bound of Creator flied
In his ascension for Ummah prayed
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Four caliphs are his paradise neighbor
Who is in love with him is away from evil
He is sultan of creations as a whole
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
What Dervish Jonah does in here without you
Real prophet without doubt and mistrust is you
Whom don't obey you faithlessly as an infidel go
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Written by Dervish Jonah (Yunus Emre)
Translation Onur Ünlü
A virtuous man stands tall, far ahead,
Preaches mercy, yet calls heretics dead,
Speaks of hell, if he had seen,
Prescribes salvation and condemns unclean,
He sings of heaven till his last breath,
Then why, priest do you fear that death?
An infidel knows no rules, the trouble begins,
How can a priest keep him from sins?
Does this make him boundless, free to appease?
Or does the priest sin more than he dares to please?
It may be just my impression,
whoever stumbles, does not walk,
but whoever gets up,
is the one who moves forward...
I am not an infidel,
I did not have an affair...
it was just a coincidence!
Before you judge me bad
oh doctor, oh doctor!
you have already thrown the first stone!
At the end of life,
with or without wealth,
everyone goes to the same hole
poor fellows!
Houses are tombs
where we die
in life!
When we think we know everything,
we still have everything left,
that we need to know...!
UNLOVED 2 (EXPANDED)
The stinging is particularly painful today,
Needles of sharp cold burning blood stab and sear my heart
The jabbing jagged thousand little holes stay
And begin again tomorrow to flay each part.
Rejection is a drowning drunk
Gasping with each mouthful of pride
Another trophy now lies lifeless and sunk
Another screaming day that died.
For all the steaming dreaming part
I played in the capture of my choice
Flat failure is the guide of my loveless dart
And a choking silence is my only voice.
When the punished pillows murder cry
Silent clocks and secret swish
Of thick dark failing falling curtains fringed with notoriety
Rip the seams of a ragged wish
Until the spleen sheds its poison deep below
Swimming into the fathom of night and day
Where no tender fingers reach my depth
And only the claw grasps its prey.
Liar lord of loyalty the infidel of opera cloak
Sweep and cover a collapsing shroud
Leaving only the tomb and the weeping womb
For the remnants of the uncertain crowd.
Religion
the bullet
that loads
in your gun
Projecting
its damage
belief
zero-sum
Exclusion
delusion
its sights
center mass
To kill
nonbelievers
the infidel
class
(The New Room: December, 2023)
Juan tells you he is an immigrant, northern mexico
that he learned to speak english in iowa
and these coupled are the reason
Juan's accent is different
Juan is not mexican
Juan lives in fear of americans
Juan in america is a raghead
a camel jockey, sand
this is not unique to america
the world is filled with such
infidel, hymie, gentile, untouchable
the word hardly matters
the effect is achieved
somewhere in the stratum
there is a lesser being
and while all are not as such
there are more than enough
to keep men such as Juan
ashamed of their heritage
the most segregated hour is 10 a.m.
on sunday morning, those easy pieties
of the church bizarre
mr. jackson sits in front of his mirror
in a prominent section of los angeles
mutilating himself into a white man
sometimes society is so successful
in its emasculation
we become our own honkey
then again, how can we be asked
to give up our
when even god seems to refuse
Phoenix 93
I am incapable of experiencing anger, fear or sadness
Without constantly thinking about judgement
I just want to destroy all that paves my way
Without worrying about trouble with the law
I just want to piss my pants thinking about the future
Without being called an anxious neurotic
I just want to be able to shed a single tear
Without being seen as less of a man
Why on Earth would God give us these feelings
And call us infidel for exploring it?
It frothed, it boiled from deep within her soul,
fermenting in the furnaces of hell.
Considering how best to take her toll,
With heaving breast, stared down the infidel,
and belched it forth with foul and fetid smell.
It launched, depraved and deathly, to the skies;
the horror of its impact filled his eyes.
Try though he might, he could not quell his fears,
and thus, did rationality despise.
The evil jabberwock fell on his ears.
----------
for the Dizain Poetry Contest Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
written on 10/18/22
what some people apparently think when you say, "God bless you!" :-)
They say the gods do not subtract from man
the portion of his life spent sailing ships,
but she, the sea, brings ruin to ill plans.
Though harsh, this raucous mistress well equips
the one who seeks her true, with all his heart;
a bond is forged that naught else does eclipse.
To plumb her depths, to know, without a chart,
her crevasses, the cycle of her tides…
A jealous love, she’ll not abide apart.
Take care, o man, in making her your bride!
How glorious, to glide her bosom’s swell;
Let diligence and honor be your guides.
The man who faithful tends her, chooses well,
but woe befalls the careless infidel.
—————
for the Five Stanza Terza Rima Poetry Contest
sponsored by Milton Hankins
written 07/14/2022
A buzz-saw wind
peppers a far horizon.
We hear the nails falling
from an impossible distance.
Damage will be done elsewhere;
instinct squeezes a grey glue
out of blind brains.
A razor-teethed storm
is coming.
We share this piddling dread
with puddle dancing sparrows,
they suspect,
we suspect,
a suspicion clouds all eyes.
Many are all thinking too much
making the sky edgy with thought.
Bundles of nerves
have brought us here
to listen to the engendered,
the endangered,
the ponderous tread of the
shuddersome.
It is then we know
that we are all Acts of God
in a ravening, infidel world.
Behold the coming of the infidel
with his tanks and brigades in battledress,
where once barbarians on horseback fell
new destroyers hide new sin unconfessed.
Now Serb boots march where invaders have trod
on Muslim Srebrenica in blood thirst,
but where, O tell, is their merciful God
when the lords of genocide do their worst?
Will mortar shells discern installation
from infant flesh in the stone cobbled street?
Might enemy siege end in salvation
where ancient homeland and battlefield meet?
Or will more die in the cold snow and mud
when raised are partisan flags stained in blood?
Written: April 1993
What will be life's purpose on doomsday? Imagine!
If God asks your will, what will you say? Imagine!
Both of us have God's Word in our hands, what it says?
On reading this code, who'll go astray? Imagine!
From the country of your body, if heart's exiled?
Where will then your heart's loneliness stay? Imagine!
Future is a ray of light that has passed the source
Immortal with time's curvable ray! Imagine!
The forehead that bows to God will be infidel
You'll protect your belief; neglect pray: Imagine!
March 13, 2023
Damn the wind and curse the sand,
Sunburned face and calloused hand.
Stranger in a foreign land called Outremer.
Take up arms when duty calls.
Prove to God you’ve got the balls.
Grit your teeth and storm the walls of Outremer.
Dark encampment, picket line
Posted on the desert’s spine.
Nourished by the bread and wine of Outremer.
Fever tempered, battle scarred,
Cold as steel and twice as hard,
Earn salvation standing guard in Outremer.
And yet, beneath your armored shell,
Can your conscience really tell
Who’s the truer infidel in Outremer?
Pandering For Votes
Tom’s Opinion
July 17, 2021
Our country is filled with protesters, and activist’.
Many, filled with hate, are motivated by feelings of entitlement.
Their hunger is never quenched,
and a helping hand has become a way of life.
They quench their thirst from a pool
fed by the success of others.
Politicians give away tax dollars
through some program under the guise of helping the poor,
but it’s all about pandering for votes.
They know, you seldom bite the hand that feeds you.
Socialist believe everything should be doled out by big brother.
But I agree with Ian Steward Richardson who said it best,
“There are only two places socialism works-
one is in a beehive, and the other is in an ant hill.”
1 Timothy 5:8
“But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.”
King James Version (KJV)
Jesus walked on water it’s true,
It was Peter that challenged:
“Prove to me Jesus, prove it is you”
Jesus said;”walk over to me”
But Peter he sunk,
he sunk in the sea
The symbolic message of this story is lost
It’s not about water,
it is about trust.
The sea was violent as are rocky times
The times we are in,
faith often resigns
The illusion of the absence of god himself
inside harder times
is an easy convince.
It is about ultimate faith in your creator
and his wisdom inside
his deterministic nature.
Buddhism depicts life as a dream,
Ok to be sleeping,
awakened supreme.
Awakened from being fully aware
For aware is an illusion,
a self-love affair.
That life is for faith and control of oneself.
And that those who are lost,
are but infidel
Jesus depicted to show your potential
The son of the father,
blind faith fundamental
We are incredibly undepictable small,
but a speck of dust in creation
looking up to the sky.
Consciousness noticing two trillion galaxies
All while mind
but sees one reality.
Symbolic stories simply asking to trust,
because even this speck,
can experience love.
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