Long Turban Poems
Long Turban Poems. Below are the most popular long Turban by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turban poems by poem length and keyword.
It was another beautiful morning in the city , Workers looking radiant as always
People strolling , Cars horning as pedestrians throttled along the Zebra crossing
The subway was crowded with the smell of early morning rush and sweat
Little did they know that there was a shadow lurking behind the bright sun
The announcer’s voice towered over sound of luggage’s being dragged
Flight attendants smartly dressed hurried towards the boarding gates
Passengers sat patiently at the lounge, awaiting the call of the day
How could they have known that today will change their very lives
Nineteen bearded men dressed in polo shirts scattered amidst the crowd
Each missing the silky feel of their long white robes and heavily woven turban
As they try to fit in with their newly bought Jeans and Sky blue snickers
They knew what was about to happen, their lives was fading as the clock ticked
People going about their work and children being dragged to school
It was the ninth hour of the Mane , The plane heading for a wrong land
Passengers struggled for their lives, calling their loved ones for the last time
They saw the rage lurking in their eyes, the clothing couldn’t hide the evil
A Woman standing in the office, talking to her fiancé on the phone
As she stared out the spotless white glass, she saw it heading her way
She couldn’t mutter a word as her fiancé called out on the other end
Not a step could she take as the wall crashed on her, it was clearly too late
Buildings tumbling down the great heights, fire flying through the sky
Bodies rolling through the sky like the brutal fall of strong rain in spring
Oh what a sorry sight for a blind man, oh what a poison for the soul
Some watched with great tears, they could do nothing to save a life
Deadly cry of babies filled everywhere, smell of blood saturating the air
Heads missing the body buried under the crumbs of the fallen bricks
Some puffing out the last breath in them, hanging on for the very last time
Thunders of sadness roared everywhere, Mourning voices everywhere
So many lives were lost along with Nineteen men who thought it as fate
Not a year passes that we do not weep, for the lost souls of this day
The brave hearts that left us , even at the face of death some struggled
They linger forever in our hearts, as their thoughts dwell within us.
I just made it in time for Mary's funeral, it had been raining
heavily all day but the sun came out through the clouds.
And as I watched her coffin being lowered into the ground,
I was filled with emotions pouring out of my soul.
I recall that typical day four years ago that my co-worker
and friend told me she had discovered a lump in her breast.
No pain, she said, probably nothing at all but we all told her
to go have it checked.
The pathology report came quickly, Stage IV, invasive
massive cancer tumors; in lymph nodes, in her breast,
metastasized. I recall thinking how is this possible? Mary
was hopeful, saying, I will beat this. She joined groups,
did walks with others with breast cancer. And she wore
pink. At work we all wore pink ribbons.
Both breasts were removed within weeks and the nodes,
and maybe more; then she started chemotherapy treatment,
and radiation and hormone therapy. I think sometimes, why
did she go through all that when the end was obvious to all.
Cancer victims must have exceptional inner courage.
Mary called me to say she was losing her hair, next she
lost her eyebrows and eyelashes, her finger nails and her
toenails were frail and discolored. We painted them pink.
She lost so much weight, oh she was so thin. When I visited
I had to hold back tears, only after leaving did I cry.
When I saw her, Mary wore a pink turban or hat and put
on makeup and big earrings. Actually she looked quite
beautiful to me. But she showed me her horrible scars and
would weep. She talked about breast cancer awareness
and the need for research. So much inner strength.
There was a hospital bed in her living room. Husband slept
on the couch, cat in her bed. How she loved that cat, they
had put a pink ribbon around its neck. Family and friends
came, in hushed tones they kissed her goodbye. She just
smiled and one evening alone with her husband and her
cat, she died. He said it was peaceful.
Please support cancer research and awareness always and,
remember, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month,
so wear PINK!
______________________
September 8, 2015
Narrative
For the contest, Pinktober #2, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
10th Place
The Lord is our mighty God
He stands up for us against Satan
he is the arch-enemy of all time
but His angel is our mighty nation
Like Joshua, we've filthy garments
the Lord's angel looks at our tents
removes them in an instant
putting on new pure vestments
Joshua then received assurance
from the angel of the Lord
who stood by him there
such sweet peace to afford
Then Joshua was challenged
to keep charge of God's ways
for if he did, a branch would appear
so important to do what He says
The key lesson here to learn
God's ways are always best
no matter what we may think
trust and obey sealed on your nest
(Zechariah 3: 1-10 (ESV)
Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the Lord said to Satan, “The Lord rebuke you, O Satan! The Lord who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?” Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, “Remove the filthy garments from him.” And to him he said, “Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.” And I said, “Let them put a clean turban on his head.” So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him with garments. And the angel of the Lord was standing by.
And the angel of the Lord solemnly assured Joshua, “Thus says the Lord of hosts: If you will walk in my ways and keep my charge, then you shall rule my house and have charge of my courts, and I will give you the right of access among those who are standing here. Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, you and your friends who sit before you, for they are men who are a sign: behold, I will bring my servant the Branch. For behold, on the stone that I have set before Joshua, on a single stone with seven eyes, I will engrave its inscription, declares the Lord of hosts, and I will remove the iniquity of this land in a single day. In that day, declares the Lord of hosts, every one of you will invite his neighbor to come under his vine and under his fig tree.” )
Dad Revisited
RIP 1924-2015
Last night I sat up in bed and prayed a little longer,
I asked god to send dad back for just one more day with great fervour.
Dad was waiting for me in the verandah as soon as I reached,
Seated on his cane chair with legs outstretched.
Suited- booted, neat crisp turban, expectant eyes so tender
The same tweed coat, the warm muffler across his shoulder.
The moment he saw me he fumbled for his walking stick,
Stood up took a few steps forward in a nick.
We embraced each other tight as he planted as kiss on my head,
I nuzzled against his warm coat enjoying the love of my figurehead.
Warm drops of love fell on my cheeks,
Saw oceans pouring through his teary creeks.
'I can't control them', he said chokingly,
Feeling the other's heart beats we clung to each other tightly.
'Let's go to the garden, the grape fruit is waiting for you!'
We walked together slowly over his leafy garden dew.
Dad showed me the new cuttings and saplings he had potted for me,
He pointed to the overgrown grass and said his workers were on leave.
He said,' Ah, for more varieties of flowers!
But the dogs don't spare them in my bowers'.
We smiled and saw the overladen grape fruit trees,
I plucked three grapefruits and said they would suffice with a tease.
We slowly climbed up the steps to our sunny verandah to sit alone,
He asked me what was it that I had wanted to tell him over the phone.
I read out my poem, '13, West Macott Road', a nostalgia shakeup,
Of our ancestral home in Poona where he had grown up.
I was reared up there, too, by my grandparents,
He wept and hugged each other, our undying love evident.
'I can't believe you had this talent and I didn't know about it till now,
You always make me cry with your emotions, but no more will I allow!'
He took out his kerchief to wipe my tears, his permanent flair,
I was still sniffing when I sighted his empty cane chair.
December 10, 2015
Contest: Just One More Day
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Strip me bare like the land
Sacred and unprotected
That you come to claw and tear
To hold its sparkle
In the ostentation of your hand
For man is more than spectacle
And I am more than
Just a sum of atoms,
Or a bit among the pieces of the plan
Mine me for all the gold I am
It is a great project
Memory writing imagination
To immortalize the castle in the sand
The salt tongue of sea
Have shaped like a human hand.
I shall learn too
Rocks like a metaphor for my strength.
Only bring not those productions here
Machines crawling
Into my skin
Gnawing me with caterpillar teeth
Of a psychological reality
Of the Aryan world
Leave Sigmund and Karl
In the bleachers to wait with me
For the expedition that shall be
A better paradigm than El'Dorado
Those are superficial oars
Too narrow the scope of vision
To plow and dissect
The TransAtlantic triangle
Of my reduction
To a stage of history
The savage
Unthankful for its civilization
Making the cosmology of the soul.
I am more rock
Than a caterpillar can feed.
And it, before it flies
Against the glittering sun
Is more paradigm
Than you excavate from a pun.
Strip me bare like the land
This limited space in time
Shall tell
The expanding universe of days
Not a new beginning
But a slow Columbus world
Coming to the reality
Of a preexistence beyond
Mere sensation
Laid out like cloth
Upon the table of the mind.
Cloth, you say
Another precursory thing to rag
O had you seen it
Form like cotter on the head
Or turban, or mat
Or sheet upon the bed
It carries babies too
Close to the fountain of its milk
But cloth, before all that
Woven and waiting for the design
Functional in service
And still a canvas of history
Only an ancient African understands.
Cloth you take off to change the landscape
That body stands naked in its innate beauty
Despite the loss of soil and trees
Cloth shed like skin
Before we enter into the river
I from Darien look and shiver
At the sight of the newcomer
Standing like a Drake
(Jodhpur is a beautiful, cultural, historical city in Rajasthan, India. This poem is all
about Jodhpur from her mouth as she told).
Left behind her beamish days of time of life, her days of girlhood…
Left behind her mother’s warmth and faced against frailties,
She left behind her father’s ires and raced against entelechies.
She brought with her those memories,
At once she wailed and bemused she smiled
She brought with her those glosses, palled in her eyes.
Left behind her rainbow and lived in blues
She smiles in low, her eliding Jodhpuri days.
Felled by griefs when thought of those kites at mackerel sky
Her heart yelled mutely at the Marwar soothed musical bliss fly.
There she drew by the Nagaur Turban and adorned faunae
Ceased by arts of jugglers, puppeteers and spread her wings with the winter newbie.
Revived with these memories she framed her ethnic hospitality
Multihued costumes and the aura of the folk dances attired by the society.
The copious finesse graced by palatable cuisine
Kachori, mirchibada and panchkuta are edible by.
Her blue eyes sobbed by her memories of palship
A walkover by the Balasammand lake
One will pass by the bird of Juno by the lush greenery.
The Sunset splashed with spectacular colours,
She enjoyed those days passing by the blue hills and envying canvas.
Retraced by the red sandstone and columnar, spire temples
She sketched her agone days with those prayers
Devoted towards the Shrine, deities and heroes of decades forgone.
Her heart thumped by her memories of gossips
Becharmed by the Forts and palaces,
The bygone era still reminds the battles fought
Witnesses still stand still by the chronicle held upon.
Lost by these memories colorful
She vivified in her vignettes
She brought up herself with the city
And she slept by the daydream known as Sun City.
Dated: 16/01/2010
Note: This poem is dedicated to my Jr. Miss Rajni
Heading to a cauldron in the dry sea of sands
Far afield the Sahara shores devoid of life
With an array of dexterous army riding further North
Our horses neighs as honed swords beholds Amir al-Mu'mini's hands
Death on battlefield is an honourary worth
Even the treasures of war fuels this sweet strife
To bring back silvers, gold, and pleasuring flesh
As a "Missing-Captured" for my already bloated chambers
And the crown will yield more cowries if Allah blesses
The throne, to rax few shells to the proselytes or sheik in the madrasas
Who barely tattles my fate but extols me greatly
The fogged dust on our tarsals censored vision in the brown mist
And the day mocked our sights
Yet we fought with fallen numbers till the sun left the east
To the west with blunt swords clanging defeat
While the crescent moon and rayed star decked the night
Our feral horses snorted as the numbers of our enemies diminishes
From thousands to hundreds and then tens till they are no more
Then rode us to the oasis under the night's eyes
The wind sang victorious song for us while we quench our thirst
Even when water taste like sand as we drink there was plenty to pour
In our jars for the next few day's ablution
~
Our flintlock muskets hug straight at our back
As we rode our horses with our prisoners of war
Tied with our turbans to a caravan camel
Along with ostriches, ivories, kolanuts and salts
To a waiting parade while my horsemen brandished their swords
It excited the maidens who peeped under a parasol
Their breast dangles like ripe mangos in a tree.
My father rode to me with his horsemen chanting the greatness of God
He was Clad in an ostrich's feather in his turban
He embraced me and the trumpet went amok with melodious sounds
These I've always desired - a titular prince
Worthy of all admiration in the whole of the five emirates
Picnic
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
My friends laugh elsewhere on the beach
while I sit here, alone, counting the waves,
writing and rewriting your name in the sand ...
Confession
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Your image overwhelmed my vision.
As the long nights passed, I became obsessed with your visage.
Then came the moment when I quietly placed my lips to your picture ...
***
Rain
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Why shiver alone in the rain, maiden?
Embrace the one in whose warming love your body and mind would be drenched!
There are no rains higher than the rains of Love,
after which the bright rainbows of separation will glow with the mysteries of hues.
My Body's Moods
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I long for the day when you'll be obsessed with me,
when, forgetting the world, you'll miss me with a passion
and stop complaining about my reticence!
Then I may forget all other transactions and liabilities
to realize my world in your arms,
letting my body's moods guide me.
In that moment beyond boundaries and limitations
as we defy the conventions of veil and turban,
let's try our luck and steal a taste of the forbidden fruit!
***
Moon
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
All of us passengers,
we share the same fate.
And yet I'm alone here on earth,
and she alone there in the sky!
***
Vanity
by Parveen Shakir
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
His world is so simple, so very different from mine.
So distinct—his dreams and desires.
He speaks rarely.
This morning he wrote: "I saw some lovely flowers and thought of you."
Ha! I know my aging face is no orchid ...
but how I wish I could believe whatever he says, however momentarily!
Those who savour do know well the taste,
The rest may form but the images abstract;
Unsubstantial eyes penetrate deep into realities,
But the carnal look with superficial glance.
Spent I time pondering over the baffling puzzle,
Whom He created the Master Scheme for?
One morn, at last at the hour of dawn,
The curtains were raised, the gallery swung,
The door opened wide to show the reality.
Ah! What incredible I did find to see,
Since then my mind burns, my heart smoulders,
To capture the fleeting vision again.
The nourishing celestial taste of experience,
My mind, my eyes my heart did undergo,
The organs of wisdom can not explain.
The words symbols suffice not to impart,
The festive taste relished by the inner being.
A huge mirror of brilliance hanging down,
In vacancy, extended from the south to the west,
I viewed glistening with stillness of dazzling glare,
Brighter than hundreds of moons if gathered;
Emerged then slowly in the shining surface,
Half portrait of the Masterpiece, the Beautiful,
With magnificence adequate to the starved yes,
But thousands of times more prominent,
Than the brightening ground of exhibition.
Beheld I the Redeemer, the Pivot of creation,
Wearing turban green with no end lurking on the sides,
Trimmed beard, neither too long nor too short,
Seemed as if the vanished hands laboured hard,
To adorn the Matchless with the regal splendour.
Cold flashes emitting out from the countenance,
Dazzled the force of frail seeing eyes;
The spectrum seemed a true manifestation,
Of the Being who from far behind reflected,
In the enormous screen stretched in front.
The mystery was revealed, but I should keep silence,
For when “Yes” and “No” both are the ruinous extremes,
Silence is the moderate route to survive.
The canny hitman wears many faces
His smiling face he calls democracy
Were you to hear him chanting..
You would be forgiven to believe
Freedoms.. rights, democracy..
He utters and funds yet.. SEE
Do you SEE your fallen statesman
Your struggling economy..
Your puppet H.E The president
The Hitman leeching the economy dry
Where will we sell our wares is SHE falls
SHE buys gold, silver linen, and all niceties
Where will we sell our wares ooh hunter
If the hitman becomes the hunted..
If shes smoldering in ashes will they
All weep.. you clothed yourself in finery
Said I am a QUEEN I will weep not...
You held sway ruled with an iron grip
Those stars I see on your turban...
It's rumored you plucked from the skies
Trampled like a rag.. and on your back..
How you love to SOAR.. what kind of being
What kind of BEAST of prey are you.. but
Will we weep when your judgment knocks
With your sin-cup full should we then proclaim
Come out of her my people lest you share..
In her FIERY torment when HER Judgement is read
Did someone say you now lookS like a SHARK...
Did you rise from the waters or do you sit on...
The prophesied, Waters, peoples races nations
The economic hitman offers a friendly handshake
In her labs, she is breeding virulent virus..
Extermination of others is her business parcel
Yet the ignorant mesmerized ignoramus
Claim they rule.. they are all bound in chains
The system, the system, chants the Rasta...
Babylonian systems chant down.. Rasta chants
Mary Jane Joint now lights
Where did we go so wrong
Passing Janja weed Ronny..
I will call you my servant SILA see..
Calling a bird of prey from the east
Zerubbabel YOU will rebuild my temple
Zerubbabel YOU will accomplish..
The divine purpose bestowed in YOU
#Bubble in time
Luis 2020 Feb 28.