Categories
Poetry (English)

I Sit Beside

I sit beside the lake,
Collecting blue tulips
Which float on the red water.
Smoke and dust has filled the sky.
Ashes with the wind come
And stick to my wounds,
From which, now and then,
A thick drop trickles
Down and down,
All way to the lake.
I caress the grass with
Three fingers, as my mother would have,
My wounds.
The soil smells like her,
And so smells the ash, of her.
Red clouds above, in the sky
And around, smoke and dust,
But I sit beside the lake,
Collecting blue tulips.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

The Sun Rises

The sun rises from my
Shattered womb. My each dawn bleeds,
Bleeds to see the light.

The fragments of my
Body collapse, soul runs free
In moonlit desert.

Specks, specks of sand slip,
In barren desert I wait
For my guiding star.

Sure the night will pass.
White thread will be seen from black.
Sun will rise again.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

There Are No Scars

There are no scars, no wounds,
No hollow, no voids.
All the spaces are filled
With weightless white clouds,
Vanishing slowly, so slowly,
In the layers of blue sky.
From the cuts are emerging
Little leaves.
She closes her eyes to feel
Their roots getting deeper and deeper
Into the skin,
Binding her together, holding her,
Inch by inch, moulding her.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

Oceans And Skies

Oceans and skies float in her eyes,
At horizons she sits cross-legged.
Leaving behind all miseries, pains,
Far from the hypocrisies wretched.

The water, the winds, these waves,
Wrap her in their blessed arms.
She hides in the fog, the mists,
Breathing in the holy warmth.

Drop by drop assimilating in the blue,
Drop by drop annihilating in the blue.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

O Traveller

O Traveller walk forth,
Till you reach the eternal gardens
Beneath whom rivers flow,
Eternally.
The desert is vast,
But do not get lost.
Just follow the righteous path,
Hold on to the rope.
The sand is hot,
But your Lord is near.
O Traveller walk forth,
Save thy heel
From the burning fire.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

I Do Not Have

I do not have colours.
With fingers I make random lines
In blue sky,
Where all can see it and see it not.
Are they really random? Or
They mean something,
I do not know and know you not.
Isn’t it peaceful
To draw what none can see,
To write no one can read,
In the blue blue sky.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

One By One

One by one the leaves all dried,
Withered, wilted, fell.
Now on their graves I stand,
Alone, bare, seeming lifeless,
But alive I am.
Not only breathing, I am alive.
I stand on their graves,
But a murderer I am not.
They left for they wanted to leave,
Stopping them was not in my hands.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

She Hides

She hides brimmed eyes behind walls.
Why do they do this, O Lord?
Beneath the veil, she wears a thousand wounds.
They try to erode out her Faith with blades,
But every cut pours out the light of her Deen,
Bathing her profusely with layers of blood,
Blood strengthened in submission to the eternal Truth.

She hides brimmed eyes behind the walls.
She will never let them win.
To her Lord, in sujood, she will cry for hours,
But will not let them consider her weak.
They will never have the satisfaction of seeing her
In tears, in pain, shattering.
Who says she is alone? She needs no mortal soul.
In her hands, she holds tight, the rope of Al Muhaymin.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

We Turn

We turn our face towards Thee O God,
Thy rope we hold in hands,
Of heavens and earth Thou are the Lord,
To Thou belong all the lands.

Guide us O Lord on the righteous path,
O Master we are Thy servants weak,
On the path which incurs not Thy wrath,
Thy forgiveness we all Lord seek.

© Muntazir
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Categories
Poetry (English)

Besides An Old

Besides an old grave,
A woman is often seen.
Her cries are not heard,
But ever since her eyes have been
Swollen red.

Wrapped in grief smeared white,
She to dark alleys escapes.
Her skin is a tattered wound.
Rusty patches she scrapes,
Blood spills.

A black band round her throat,
Slits her slowly, tightly chokes.
Words wrangle her letter by letter,
She to swallow the poisonous pukes
Is forced.

O Woman O Woman
Since ages you are painted such.
A silent pale puppet,
Who screams but rebels.
Burdened with an ideal mould
In which your desires not fit.
The grave of your dreams you carry
In your hearts,
Where you too forget to visit.
The inscriptions of your fathers and sons
You are made to carry by throat,
But forget they that God the most high
Has equal mercy on you bestowed.

O Woman O Woman
Walk to the graveyard,
Move the lid, dig out
All those dreams you buried,
deep down.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit