Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Muhammad Shanazar
I am from Pakistan, recently I have been awarded International Special Distinction on account of showing outstanding performance in the international Poetry Contests, hosted by www.voicesnet.com. By profession I am Assistan Professor in the subject of English Literature.
Bullets and Bombs
Seek devices other than, Bullets and bombs, Shells and guns, To resolve the issues; For they remained unsuccessful, Vain weapons since centuries.
Now is time to replace the methods, To test the power of tolerance, Good deeds, patience and love; Raise your hands to pray, For those who abuse; Place the other side of the cheek, To the slapping hands; Scatter petals on the paths of those, Who throw thons, Under your delicate feet; For the use of force to crush the force, Did nothing but made the earth, A hell, a dismal place. Now is the time to devise, Some new modes, some new measures, To resolve the issues,to kill the olden ones: Bullets and bombs, Shells and guns.
On Terrorism
A bestial sport that erases, The names of men from the book, Of creatures fair and courteous; Brutalizing into the savage beasts.
A black, heinous, sable spot, On the beauteous countenance, Of humanity, making appearance, Frightening of atrocious cannibals, Of those who shudder not least, At committing the murderous game.
They find profuse panic pleasure, In licking warm trickling blood, Cutting throats, perforating chests, Sucking marrowed bones, eating flesh.
How proud are they of wearing dress, Stained with coagulated paint, Escaping from the temporal rules, They know not, they are not afar, From the eternal penalizing, Laws of inevitable fair justice.
They harm no one, but themselves, By heaping up terrific perditions, Upon their too fragile backs, Rashly obey the Perfidious Friend. Their minds are too weak to perceive, The catastrophe they are to face, The fiery fangs, the clutchy claws How anxiously quiver to devour, To feast upon them unendingly.
For ransom they are to be condemned, To the torturous infernal lands, Under the huge burning blocks, Chained with the slings of hot iron, Without an end; Ah! Without an end.
On The War
The war, and exhibition of human shreds, A show of skulls, flesh, blood and bones, A bestial game, turning men into beasts, And abhorrent spot on the fair forehead, A dance of death with the exploding, Music of blasts and thundering of canons, For fond glories, and vain victories, For a piece of land or contradicting creed.
A field where aggression pretends righteous, Where Carnage and Greed the twin sisters, Always indiscriminate to false or fair, Ravage about with roaring howls, Upon the hapless weak innocence, Who being offended vainly defends. Oh Man! Change not the world into inferno, Forbear patiently the existence, Of fellows infesting upon the Earth, Intrude no the limits of liberty, Fixed to breath with solace and ease, For tactics are ripe to the culmination, Slight recklessness might result in havoc, Leaving behind neither winner nor loser.
I Shall Keep Crying
O! Heedless Generals of the parading troops, Overloaded with the warring martial contents, I shall keep crying aloud, at the top of my voice, Though my tongue is plucked out from the roots.
You are the blind dummies of the sightless kings, Only you pillage, plunder the world to increase a row Of brassy stars upon your thick broad shoulders, Or to gather a medal worth a dime to embellish, Your hollow heartless rattling cold-blooded chests.
You obey the master kings with out knowing, To kill, kill and kill humanity: the fellow beings. What aims are yours, what missions you struggle for? Just for vain victories imparting pungent pleasures. You have been blood-drunk since the period pre-historic, You have been playing the game, match of butchery, You have been entertaining with the bloody sport, To kill, kill and kill is your hobby, a painful pastime.
I shall keep crying aloud, at the top of my voice, Till guns, cannons thunder, the fighters jets grumble, The bombs blast, the missiles lacerate the air. If my sound offends, torments and troubles you, Prod your fingers into the porches of your ears, Or block them by pouring into them molten lead.
A single rider does not raise a storm of dust, I know, Yet I shall perform my task, discharge my responsibility, So that I might not be included in the list of characters, Who set the fair Earth on fire, deformed it into inferno.
Pray To Almighty
Sounding sirens, roaring planes, Parading men, thundering guns, Rising mushroom, exploding bombs, Launched missiles, advancing troops, All are behind the human existence, How long Mankind might exist, On the Earth.
Think awhile, Resting your head on the pillow, When your engagements allow you, Ans when worries do not linger around, Pray to Almighty: It is enough, it is enough, Now supply not the world with characters, Merely with heads stuffed with straw.
The Black Clouds
Never had I seen the blacker clouds, As I do witness encroaching them now, Emerging from filthy firmament, In the grim sky of the West, Before the utter horrifying darkness; They advance merging among themselves, Like sooty sable flakes of cotton; They are not the clouds that carry the drops of rain, Those quench the parched breast of the earth, Those bring good tidings for the rich affluent future, But the harbingers of destruction and ruin, The omens of blackness, Those take birth when explosives explode, And chemical weapons blast, Sprinkling the drops of human blood, Too red, too thick, and too innocent.
Fifth Angel
Gabriel finished His task of conveying, The divine massages, To the selected men of God; Michael is still busy to perform, To render the assigned business, Moving the winds, drifting the clouds, And pouring them on the crops, Managing the stock for sustenance, From the smallest creature to the gigantic one, Azreal obligates drawing the souls, And imparts, distributes the alms of death, Israfeal has held in this month since beginning, A clarion to blow, to announce, The end of every think, he stands alert, Neither does he sleep nor does he doze, Lest he should commit disobedience, Of a single moment when time comes, And the Commandment commands, To demolish the entire structure, The visible phenomenon of the universe.
Yet there is another manmade fiery Angel, That keeps it self busy in mischievous games, Searches for the hustling houses, The farms replete with crops swaying in ecstasy, The gardens full of roses with shining petals, And the mansions: the shelters of humanity, Or seeks he the spots loaded with happiness, A hunter crazy to crush the flowering dreams, Dose not he discriminate between stones and petals, Aged fellows and mewling infants, Demolishes he the villages, towns and cites, Writes anew the pages and chapters of history; For the men of the modern world regard him, The crushing, exploding, devastating manmade, Devilish device, the fifth Angel Mizael “Missile”;
The Dance Of Darkness
(Dedicated to the Victims of Nuclear Weapons)
Though in the later years I was born, Yet history makes me forlorn, Rocks me back in the past behind, To the horrible event and tragic morn.
I see the roses with blighted faces, Satchels on backs, toddling to schools, Playing in parks, swimming in pools, The men, women and the old folk, Busy in their worldly doings, Teenagers move with flowing passions, With longings for the better times, Brighter future and happier days, The stream of life goes with dancing waves. The lovers still on the beds, bending Over one another peeping into the eyes, Measure the depth of bottomless love.
Oh no! Now my receptive ears clearly hear, Incredible rumbling roaring of thunder, And eyes see huge yellow bluish flame, Whose dazzle makes us all blind, All blackness of humanity spurts out, In the shape of sooty mushroom, Upon the earth spreading sable shadows, The explosion smashes and blows up, The whole structure of civilization, The hopes resting in the beating hearts, And cherished longings in the minds.
I see humanity being fallen, To the meanest level of savagery, Cruelty and abyss of brutality, What game have played the pioneers of peace, The busy men, women and sucking infants, Being nourished in the soft soothing laps, Burn as the rosy petals do, When thrown into the furnace, Where terrible enormous heat, Melts metals hard, like butter, The Darkness dances all around, The echoes of laughter have changed, Into wailing, crying and painful shrieks.
Who are these who move like ghosts, Charred bony figures with hanging shreds, Lamenting upon the horrible deed, And despised nature sighs and sobs, That who knows when time takes turn, Who knows moments of calm and peace, Might contain the centuries of sorrows.
A Complaint
Ah! I do know the winds shall blow, And the same old Titanic will me row, To the distant promised harbour, Where were placed my dear parents, And grandparents long, long ago.
I shall complain and tell them the tale, “On the Earth, on each dale and vale, Thunder thunders flaming the lands, Ravaging the green or purple peaks, Each tree you planted is dry or pale.”
The Sky Does Not Protest
In the early years of my flavoured childhood, Could not I differ between an evil and a good, And went to the forest afar with my age fellows, To collect, to gather the dry sticks or fire wood.
In summer seldom the swishing winds blew, The grains of sand and contents of dust flew, And made the clean spheres reddish brown, We bundled the fuel as the harsh winds grew.
Contending the winds, to home we returned, On each step blurring, blowing blows burned, And we rested on the way beside the old well, Wherefrom damsels obtained water churned.
They talked themselves with the concern deep, About some innocent murder, they did weep, Then I understood why the sky grew vague, Why did winds raise dust, why they did beep?
Ah! The sky now does not protest, nor frown, Nor change colour from blue to reddish brown, He too might have grown accustomed to blood, Though Man is killed in each village, each town.
Let Us Exchange
(A Message to the Nations at War)
Let us exchange the fresh red roses, Sweet smelling scents and perfumes, And the restless palpitating hearts too. Uproot the thorny weeds of disgust, Spread arms, open the shut windows, Of the locked rusty close minds.
A time to sweep the paths clean, Picking up the thorns and stones, Where upon our children will walk, Bare feet, advancing to the heights, In search of the brightening zones.
A time to throw the spacey cobras, Into the waters of the deep seas, To remove impending fatal fear, That makes us all yellow or pale, To wash blobs of the bitter past.
A time to present honey pure, Instead of the poisoned cups of wine, To repent in the remaining time, On being puppets in the alien hands, On wounding, perforating chests, Bleeding no one but ourselves.
I Won't Dissuade
O! The wise heads of humanity, Though I know you will not obey, For resolute you are in your pursuits, And you will turn deaf ear to my cries, Yet I shall perform the assigned task, Like a shepherd standing on the rock, Does shout to aware the heedless flock, Of the encroaching dangers, hidden perils, And calls at the top of the voice to attract, The heed that erratic are the heading steps, They might take, lead to the brim vertical, Of dungeon dark, the point of no return.
O! The wise heads of humanity, Though you obey or not, yet I shall utter The notes, give forth the voice of conscience, I won’t dissuade you, do whatever you wish, But blood, honour and life on the paths, You trample, torment my mind, my soul, And I like a helpless shepherd stand aside, Whose flock is taken by the fierce wolves.
The Second Visit
(After the Nuclear War)
Oh! Where have gone children, men and women, The fair featured descendants of Adam and Eve, I might have come on some disaster-prone planet, With grim sooty mountains, sterile barren plains, The treeless valleys extend before my amazed eyes.
Oh! It is the same spot, I vividly summon up, Though deformed, distorted with horrible looks. It is the land where the shepherds grazed, Their sheep, goats and cows from morn to eve. These were the farms where lush wheat swayed, And butterflies hovered over the sweet-scented, The yellow blossomed amphitheatre of sarsoon 1. The rustic damsels singingly weeded the farms, Gathering herbs to nourish the bleating goats.
This is the dry banyan tree stands like a ghost, Where at noon in summer we all took rest, In its cool shade and played hide and seek, The older men played cards sitting in circles. Amid the chirping of sparrows, crowing of crows, Cooing of doves, and transporting songs, Of the nightingales and seasonal cuckoos.
Oh! Who are these who drag the bodies, Like reptiles remotely resemble the human race, Hairless heads, faces without beards and moustaches, Shaved brows, sans lashes beady gummy eyes, The bag-like loose bellies fall on the knees; Flexible noses hang like lurking beaks. Arms like jointy-sticks with overgrown hands, Legs like thick bendy rope made of black polythene.
Here is the rivulet where along with the age fellows, We took bath in the opaque, muddy water of Saawun 1, Now I see sitting in lines along the grassless banks, The post-war generation, outcome of devilish intellect, Pounce on the crabs, toads and frogs when they Up rise from the water and some breathless chase The rodents when they come out of their holes. And chatter like the swarm of cackling wild-goose, When the hunter appears from behind the rock, And with precision points the hunting gun at them.
A Complaint
Ah! I do know the winds shall blow, And the same old Titanic will me row, To the distant promised harbour, Where were placed my dear parents, And grandparents long, long ago.
I shall complain and tell them the tale, “On the Earth, on each dale and vale, Thunder thunders flaming the lands, Ravaging the green or purple peaks, Each tree you planted is dry or pale.”
O! America Reverse
My opinions are changed, My heart lacks fervour, For you lunched the war, Purposeless, To liberate who are already free, To enrich who are already rich, To make the fierce, more ferocious.
When will the time intrude you, Make you see the brilliant aspect of the affair, And humanity will sing the song of peace? When will you peep into your inner-self To see the reflected image of you own? When will you obey the divine commands And make out them that God forbids pollution Smog and fumes of turmoil wrapping His fair Earth?
Now open your eyes The shores are red; The lands are coated with blood, The skulls are scattered like stones, For the sake of oil or the reserves of gold, Be aware a single drop of human blood Possesses more worth than all treasures That the earth contains.
Now stop killing; enough, enough, You neither surrender, nor do deprive others Of the rights which the divine commands allow, Go through the lanes with moderate bearing.
Live like a benefactor among the nations, Share with them your victuals, Stock of knowledge and skills, And snatch them not of their own. Return fathers to the orphans, Husbands to the widows, Brothers to the waiting damsels, And sons to the aged mothers, If not then compensate them all, For the broken hearts, shattered dreams.
Hatred against you thrives, Magma against you grows, Let the volcano sleep, Beneath the layers deep, And only once apply, The strategy of the weapon of love Discarding the old devices of uranium.
The amount you spent on the arsenal Would have been enough to feed the world Though ten times bigger; If you had ruled the hearts, The world might have been a different place Of love, peace and harmony.
Through force your aims will never be gained, So amend the ways and stroll on the route That enhances you in respect and esteem; Review and revise the modes of actions, Follow not the path that leads the world To the chaos, and on the point of no return, For there will be a dark dungeon of curse, O! America, for the sake of humanity reverse.
An Unpardonable Crime
Strange is the justification To launch a war, Against the innocent Against the weaponless. Strange is the confrontation, A shell or a missile. Or a Daisy Cutter against a stone. Pretended war has at the back, The intention to reserve, The reserves of the world, For descendants of the Launchers.
Lands are being occupied, The oil-wells are being usurped, The rights are be being snatched, Multitude of homeless is being enhanced, Hunger is being sponsored, Smiles and laughter are being stolen, The son are being slaughtered, The brothers are being murdered, The husbands are being smashed, The properties are being damaged, The blackened airs are to inhale, Fire, smoke, and fume are ready to consume, The human existence on the earth, To the verge of extinction.
O! The leading heads, Chase not the personal wellbeing, Be aware of the fact, We all are brothers and sisters, Children of the same parents, Though the colours of skin are different, Yet in the networks of our bodies, The same red substance flows.
War is an unpardonable crime, A crime against humanity, A crime against descendents, A crime against God, Though it is fought in pretension of peace.
The Dance Of Darkness
(Dedicated to the Victims of Nuclear Weapons)
Though in the later years I was born, Yet history makes me forlorn, Rocks me back in the past behind, To the horrible event and tragic morn.
I see the roses with blighted faces, Satchels on backs, toddling to schools, Playing in parks, swimming in pools, The men, women and the old folk, Busy in their worldly doings, Teenagers move with flowing passions, With longings for the better times, Brighter future and happier days, The stream of life goes with dancing waves. The lovers still on the beds, bending Over one another peeping into the eyes, Measure the depth of bottomless love.
Oh no! Now my receptive ears clearly hear, Incredible rumbling roaring of thunder, And eyes see huge yellow bluish flame, Whose dazzle makes us all blind, All blackness of humanity spurts out, In the shape of sooty mushroom, Upon the earth spreading sable shadows, The explosion smashes and blows up, The whole structure of civilization, The hopes resting in the beating hearts, And cherished longings in the minds.
I see humanity being fallen, To the meanest level of savagery, Cruelty and abyss of brutality, What game have played the pioneers of peace, The busy men, women and sucking infants, Being nourished in the soft soothing laps, Burn as the rosy petals do, When thrown into the furnace, Where terrible enormous heat, Melts metals hard, like butter, The Darkness dances all around, The echoes of laughter have changed, Into wailing, crying and painful shrieks.
Who are these who move like ghosts, Charred bony figures with hanging shreds, Lamenting upon the horrible deed, And despised nature sighs and sobs, That who knows when time takes turn, Who knows moments of calm and peace, Might contain the centuries of sorrows.
The World Lacks Patience
My world burns, Its cities, towns and villages, Plains, valleys and hills, And the tops of mountains, Smoke and smoulder.
No one knows whether he will return safe, When he leaves his abode. The mosques, the temples and the churches: The sacred places of prayers are no more secure.
Whom we obey and whom we represent? We have confounded the affairs, The eyes are blurred with the mist of rashness, We act but with the muffled hearts, Baffled minds and hazy eyes.
Assuming we are right, others are wrong, We have bunged to the humanity The windows of our hearts, And plugged the porches of ears.
We are moving farther and farther, From one another, the gaps are widening, Among hearts and among minds. Ah! The distances are becoming immense.
We have launched a vain expedition Against terrorism, but with out defining the term, Its limits and boundaries, Only to kill them whose noses we like not.
If one smashes my house, Obliterating all the members of my family, And I have no door to knock at for justice; What should I do? Why should not I make a bomb of myself? Why should not I fasten Explosives to contest the violent hands? And this is being done in the world.
Though street, roads and parks are splattered with blood, Human shreds are seen scattered, And spectacles are too horrible to see, Yet there is no terrorism.
All that we see is a reaction of our ferocious deeds, In case we intend to impede the reaction, We must stop the action. To crush force by using force is an aged method, Now for the sake of humanity discard the old measures Deepening the roots of violence, For since beginning mankind becoming Fuel of the devastative devices, has suffered a lot; Just once apply the appliance of love To resolve the threatening issues.
One who seeds the bushes must be prepared to taste The pang of pricking; And one who plants roses might cherish himself With enthralling colours and sweet perfume. If one slaps me on the face, He must be prepared to have two on both of the cheeks, But patience is the best route to move ahead, And the world lacks patience.
An Engrossed Mother
Pitch dark is the spectrum of night, In the lawn, at the door, And on the boundary wall Tyranny is a sentinel. When the winds blow swishing, Worn out windows Begin to weep and wail and at moment When a tiny glow-worm begins to glow, Since years door-clung sighing mother, Recalls the memories of her son, Years ago went on to combat for the king In search of ephemeral victory, Whose taste vanishes before it is cherished. Her rosy-red perturbed eyes, Incarnate the scattered agony, She mutters, Ambiguous words with the withering lips; The story of defeat and exodus is inscribed On the lines of her cold-stunned hands, She looks engrossed into the vacancy And becomes attentive On each rustle of the wind.
Let Us Exchange
(A Message to the Nations at War)
Let us exchange the fresh red roses, Sweet smelling scents and perfumes, And the restless palpitating hearts too. Uproot the thorny weeds of disgust, Spread arms, open the shut windows, Of the locked rusty close minds.
A time to sweep the paths clean, Picking up the thorns and stones, Where upon our children will walk, Bare feet, advancing to the heights, In search of the brightening zones.
A time to throw the spacey cobras, Into the waters of the deep seas, To remove impending fatal fear, That makes us all yellow or pale, To wash blobs of the bitter past.
A time to present honey pure, Instead of the poisoned cups of wine, To repent in the remaining time, On being puppets in the alien hands, On wounding, perforating chests, Bleeding no one, but ourselves.
I Won’t Dissuade
O! The wise heads of humanity, Though I know you will not obey, For resolute you are in your pursuits, And you will turn deaf ear to my cries, Yet I shall perform the assigned task, Like a shepherd standing on the rock, Does shout to aware the heedless flock, Of the encroaching dangers, hidden perils, And calls at the top of the voice to attract, The heed that erratic are the heading steps, They might take, lead to the brim vertical, Of dungeon dark, the point of no return.
O! The wise heads of humanity, Though you obey or not, yet I shall utter The notes, give forth the voice of conscience, I won’t dissuade you, do whatever you wish, But blood, honour and life on the paths, You trample, torment my mind, my soul, And I like a helpless shepherd stand aside, Whose flock is taken by the fierce wolves.
An Unpardonable Crime
Strange is the justification To launch a war, Against the innocent Against the weaponless. Strange is the confrontation, A shell or a missile. Or a Daisy Cutter against a stone. Pretended war has at the back, The intention to reserve, The reserves of the world, For descendants of the Launchers.
Lands are being occupied, The oil-wells are being usurped, The rights are be being snatched, Multitude of homeless is being enhanced, Hunger is being sponsored, Smiles and laughter are being stolen, The son are being slaughtered, The brothers are being murdered, The husbands are being smashed, The properties are being damaged, The blackened airs are to inhale, Fire, smoke, and fume are ready to consume, The human existence on the earth, To the verge of extinction.
O! The leading heads, Chase not the personal wellbeing, Be aware of the fact, We all are brothers and sisters, Children of the same parents, Though the colours of skin are different, Yet in the networks of our bodies, The same red substance flows.
War is an unpardonable crime, A crime against humanity, A crime against descendents, A crime against God, Though it is fought in pretension of peace.
An Ode To The Detached Leaves
Ah! The blows of autumnal wind, Cold and callous, have encroached at last, They have made the leaves their victims.
Look! they fall like drops of rain, Bearing no strength of their own. They move with the gushes of wind, Without their own consent, They oscillate on the wings of some invisible agents, Who possess the secret powers, To dispose what one proposes.
I recall once they were attached hard, To the branches and boughs of the shadowy trees; And sap ran into their veins, As blood runs into the human network; And they fluttered resisting each coldhearted gust. They were resolute to go through each ebb and flow, Establishing firm relations to the nourishing limbs. And Mother Nature came stealthily to give them wash, At the moonlit nights with the drops of dew. While they fluttered, they produced symphony, Unknown even to the ancient master musicians; And they whispered in mysterious sounds, Only understood by the cuckoos or nightingales: The singers and agents of the feral world.
Now they rustle with each move of the autumnal gusts, Or crackle under the feet like too crispy dried petals; And some float on the stagnant water with green surface.
Ah! 21st century is the dawn of autumnal winds, The blows and fatal gusts have diverted the civilizations, And they now move on the tracks of conflicts, Human beings fall like leaves, waft along the blows, Detaching themselves from the nourishing boughs And shadowy branches of faith, love and tolerance.
A Cry From Kabul
(Written During The American Attacks On Afghanistan From The Arabian Sea)
O! The heartless callous warriors, The children of the crowning age, You do not see the havoc, For you stand at the distant spot, More than two thousand miles away, Planning against the weaponless; But your lacerating missiles and shells, Miss not the targets, They hail down on us smashing, Blowing up the houses, And thatched cottages with their contents, Let, allow me bury, put in the ground, My infant grandson that lay motionless, In the cradle, all shredded, torn up, Still gripping tight in his hand, A baby doll with blue eyes and rosy cheeks, Sprinkled with blood too.
Hypocrisy Or Sincerity
What sort of hearts your chests contain, What sort of brains your heads breed, That you operate upon eyes of the serpents blind, And you kiss lips of the leprous lions, Wash their pads, claws and jaws.
You allow dogs to share meals at the same table, And sleep in the same bed. You dive into oceans to vaccinate the diseased sharks. You are anxious to save from extinction The rare species of turtles and toads. And to prove the maxim, "love begets love", You place scorpions on lids of the eyes. But you produce missile, bombs and bullets, Devices of the extensive destruction, And poke humanity into the fire of wars, Pools of blood fascinate your eyes, The world is being coloured red, For royalties, trades of weapons and natural oil.
Ah! Under the false pretensions, Men, women and children: Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, Are made fuel of the devilish games, Is it hypocrisy or sincerity to the fair earth? Spare a few moments to ponder over, And bring me about the deeds you carry out.
A Recipe For Peace
Peace is though difficult Yet not impossible to uphold, All the kings of the states Must remain self-concerned, Without poking noses Into the affairs of others, Curbing cupidity To expand the territories, Subjugate the nations of the world, Enforce the so-called personal visions, And put the humanity Into new-fangled trials.
All the weapons Latest, conventional or primitive, Precious or utterly worthless, Nuclear or less potential Made of common explosives, Be spoiled, Be thrown into the deep waters Of the unexplored seas, Wherefrom no devilish character Could ransack them back.
When some is killed Neither Hindu, nor Muslim, Neither Christian nor Jew is killed, But a man: a child of Adam and Eve, The same red substance Pours out of his injured ragged body, And it pains me.
All the weapon producing units, And the blood spattering gadgets: The tanks and cannons, Mortars or machines guns, The armadas With the squadrons of fighter-jets, Submarines that navigate Secretly chase the nautical targets, Catapults and all the missiles launching frames, Be thrown into furnaces To be remodelled and redesigned Into of the earth moving machinery, Instead of the appliances Colouring the Earth red.
All the medals or symbols Of chivalry be taken back, Combatants and men With the crowned shoulders, Who often move in the battle-fields Puffed with the martial pride, Imparting, rendering No service to humanity Be employed to plough the lands, Plant the gardens, Make the dams and reservoirs of water, Feed the cattle and get them milked on time, Engaged them To perform some rewarding assignments.
Upon the earth, There must not be a single Blood-claiming weapon; If men are incensed And fight is unavoidable, They must fight with knives and rapiers, Swords and shields made of gossamer, All the time heeding Lest they should break; And all inhabitants of the world At least once a day must trim their nails, Lest when they are indignant And resentful should scratch The skin of fellow beings or their own.
The Moon Of Truth Will Live Ever Behind
At the dawn of the night while standing on the roof, I gazed at the full moon ascending imperceptibly in the sky; It seemed as if smiling in the vacancy at the self-indulgent world. A dark cloud obscured the face of the moon with a thick curtain, It seemed wriggling to uncatch grips of the blackness.
The cloud assumed the shape of a wolf: A ferocious animal of the feral world whether eats or not, Its mouth is ever blood stained, In an instant the cloud assumed the form of a shark Swimming into the ocean of murkiness fearing least the contestants.
Through the patches the stars shone far high above In their own world unconcerned to the happening, changes, And lives claiming afflictions. Then the shark of cloud assumed the image of a snake Or lashing eel, dissipating at each moment Into a misty substance and then into nothing. The moon re-emerged with full grandeur, Glorified smiling, challenging the dark images To apply their strength.
I came down with confounded heart, smoggy thoughts, And began to behold telecast of a T.V channel. I viewed thundering cannons, exploding explosives, The spurting rockets leaving behind trails of smoke, Missiles lacerating air journeying to the marked targets, The tanks moved onward in formation Like tortoise-shaped ghosts of metal, the sightless fighter jets Dropped bombs on the thickly populated spots, The buildings stood all shredded, shattered, And the inhabitants ran in helter-skelter At the cold pitiless night to seek the safe harbours; The women scampered embracing the kids Who hardly knew the cause of confusion, The ambulances brought shredded bodies bathed in blood, The limbless children were laid, lined up in queues But all motionless; the injured tossed on the first-aid tables, They reacted on each drop of brackish medicines on the wounds.
The whole drama was staged just to win the elections Or to restore the lost kudos, the spectators and pioneers of peace Were on the armada stationed in the sea, To monitor the game and endow them with the logistic support Against the weaponless to apply the strength of weapons; While the clouds of smoke were rising high assuming the shapes, Of ferocious animals either of shark, snakes or lashing eels Destined to dissipate into the spheres. The moon of truth will live ever behind with full grandeur, Glorified smiling, challenging the dark images, To apply their strength.
O! Poets And Men Of Letters Awake
The world is in the shadow of nuclear war Our own neighbor chatters to use the nuclear devices As if a thing common or a child’s play.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Only and you can save the earth from the imminent doom. The weapons are with the so-called civilized nations, As if the guns are in the hands of monkeys, We too have processed uranium Enough to combat the challengers many times, But we possess patient hearts in the chests And minds discreet, prudent and judicious in the heads.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake From the slumber deep for it is a time to weep, Use your pen and paper and moments of nights and days, Your talents, the power of your embellished words, Weave the stories of novels dramas, and words of poesy To shake the inner most part of the souls Of the leading heads of humanity who make a trade On human blood: the most precious gist of the universe.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Infuse into them astuteness to discern the difference Between just and unjust, between right and wrong, Instead of making tiresome efforts to please the kings And approving their all actions though immoral, Write not panegyrics lest you should become accomplices Against the crime of trampling sanctity, And deforming magnificence of the Mother Earth.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Impede the itchy fingers of the leprous hands Lest they should press the buttons in their own craze, If once they push the buttons, there will be a chain in reaction, And then holocaust, extinction of biological life, The cities, the towns, and the villages big or small, The parks and streets, the houses and huts will become silent. The earth will move dull drab, into spaces around the sun, With a load of skeletons, skulls and bones, But all purposeless like an astray stallion whose veteran Is killed in the battle and it runs away unrestrained.
Oh! Man Mend The Ways Old
I once in a dream flew into the world of future, On the wings of fear, with the heart of agony, And landed into a burnt zone, Remotely resembled the world of man, All wrapped in grimness of smoke.
I beheld men and women: The remains of nations in rags, All grubby with harrowed faces, Impressionless eyes they had in the sockets.
They were at war against one another, Not for high objectives nor to subjugate the Earth, But for water, food and zones of fresh air. They all carried the charred clubs, Or the sable stones in their hands, When they were at rest they shivered with cold, Oh! Man mend the ways old.
Amid The Winds Of December
(On The Departure of December, 2008)
December departs from us, But is unwilling to depart, The winds blow, They shed; they blow the yellow leaves, And they waft with the gusts As if weightless, straightness, And sightless too.
The blows drive them to and fro, Now they move ahead, then they stop, As if they stop to relax or look behind With wonder and coyness, To Nature undressing like a nude, Uncovering, exposing a bitter reality: Pleasing to the lascivious hearts, But pungent to the ascetics.
They are reluctant, Hesitant in stepping ahead As if they are imagining That the known world is sweeter Than that of the unknown, Whether wrapped in the shroud of doubts, Or in the silky sheets of faith.
They whisper in rustling sounds, To one another, As if they discern the secrets of Mortality and immortality, Finity and infinity, Certainty and uncertainty; But amid the winds of December, Man stands all alone with murky thoughts, On the bare rock of the world, Indifferent, unconcerned to the change, With ever increasing craze And fear of future, Heaping around Himself The piles of wealth, the mounds of weapons.
Unexpressed Cries
(Written on the deaths of infants when the Israel attacked Palestine)
O! I came into your world Not with my own will I was sent here by God From the better calm world Or dragged by my parents To realize their dreams.
The strangers’ arms rock me, Who sings lullaby to put me asleep Where are my own dad and mom? They do not kiss my cheeks Who are these who weep, And drop warm tears on my forehead Free of wrinkles?
What are the sounds, That I have been hearing, Since birth, No more than a month ago?
What tingles my tiny eyes? What torments my little nose? I see darkness dancing, And listen to wailings all around. Is there any one to tell me, What is going on in the world? I am too little to know The roots of clashes; I only hear grumble growl Of flying birds of iron And then: Boom boom boom… Bang bang bang… Tut tut tut…shew shew shew…
Lo! What comes with a streak Of a horrible spurtion, Perhaps a flying adder, Ah tut….
Unexpressed Cries
(Written on the deaths of infants when the Israel attacked Palestine)
O! I came into your world Not with my own will I was sent here by God From the better calm world Or dragged by my parents To realize their dreams.
The strangers’ arms rock me, Who sings lullaby to put me asleep Where are my own dad and mom? They do not kiss my cheeks Who are these who weep, And drop warm tears on my forehead Free of wrinkles?
What are the sounds, That I have been hearing, Since birth, No more than a month ago?
What tingles my tiny eyes? What torments my little nose? I see darkness dancing, And listen to wailings all around. Is there any one to tell me, What is going on in the world? I am too little to know The roots of clashes; I only hear grumble growl Of flying birds of iron And then: Boom boom boom… Bang bang bang… Tut tut tut…shew shew shew…
Lo! What comes with a streak Of a horrible spurtion, Perhaps a flying adder, Ah tut….
The First Phase
The spheres of inferno hang around the Earth, Fire in the hearts, flames in the minds, Fury are the thoughts, horror resides in the souls.
Future is wrapped in the sheets of grimness Shadows of actual joy fled away from the Earth Soldiers march in bewilderment without knowing Least the cause of killing and being killed, The politicians’ idiosyncrasy has them hypnotized, The sons, daughters and sweet partners are horrid, And uncertain whether they will return Or mingle and mix their blood, their flesh, their bones Into dust of the craters, trenches of the battleground Among the scattered carcasses covering all the field.
Lo! Explosions raise the storms of dust, Bullets make ineffectual leaps to perforate the sky, Holocaust begin to descend, All around the prostitute of Death knocks Raising the powdered Earth and smoke of explosives Scanting the noses, burning the eyes, Cannons shells explode deafening the ears.
The guns that with the fiery mouths Are gushing forth fire will become silent soon, The amphitheatre of carcasses will extend beyond the sight. Ah! They will not return home but their ghosts To console sons, daughters and partners of life, Tomorrow politicians will chatter in the dinning hall, The first phase to win the election is accomplished.
The Moon Of Truth Will Live Ever Behind
(Written at the very night of Jan. 2009, when Israel attacked the weaponless Palestinian)
At the dawn of the night while standing on the roof, I gazed at the full moon ascending imperceptibly in the sky; It seemed as if smiling in the vacancy at the self-indulgent world. A dark cloud obscured the face of the moon with a thick curtain, It seemed wriggling to uncatch grips of the blackness.
The cloud assumed the shape of a wolf: A ferocious animal of the feral world whether eats or not, Its mouth is ever blood stained, In an instant the cloud assumed the form of a shark Swimming into the ocean of murkiness fearing least the contestants.
Through the patches the stars shone far high above In their own world unconcerned to the happening, changes, And lives claiming afflictions. Then the shark of cloud assumed the image of a snake Or lashing eel, dissipating at each moment Into a misty substance and then into nothing. The moon re-emerged with full grandeur, Glorified smiling, challenging the dark images To apply their strength.
I came down with confounded heart, smoggy thoughts, And began to behold telecast of a T.V channel. I viewed thundering cannons, exploding explosives, The spurting rockets leaving behind trails of smoke, Missiles lacerating air journeying to the marked targets, The tanks moved onward in formation Like tortoise-shaped ghosts of metal, the sightless fighter jets Dropped bombs on the thickly populated spots, The buildings stood all shredded, shattered, And the inhabitants ran in helter-skelter At the cold pitiless night to seek the safe harbours; The women scampered embracing the kids Who hardly knew the cause of confusion, The ambulances brought shredded bodies bathed in blood, The limbless children were laid, lined up in queues But all motionless; the injured tossed on the first-aid tables, They reacted on each drop of brackish medicines on the wounds.
The whole drama was staged just to win the elections Or to restore the lost kudos, the spectators and pioneers of peace Were on the armada stationed in the sea, To monitor the game and endow them with the logistic support Against the weaponless to apply the strength of weapons; While the clouds of smoke were rising high assuming the shapes, Of ferocious animals either of shark, snakes or lashing eels Destined to dissipate into the spheres. The moon of truth will live ever behind with full grandeur, Glorified smiling, challenging the dark images, To apply their strength.
O! Poets And Men Of Letters Awake
The world is in the shadow of nuclear war Our own neighbour chatters to use the nuclear devices As if a thing common or a child’s play.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Only and you can save the earth from the imminent doom. The weapons are with the so-called civilized nations, As if the guns are in the hands of monkeys, We too have processed uranium Enough to combat the challengers many times, But we possess patient hearts in the chests And minds discreet, prudent and judicious in the heads.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake From the slumber deep for it is a time to weep, Use your pen and paper and moments of nights and days, Your talents, the power of your embellished words, Weave the stories of novels dramas, and lines of poesy To shake the inner most part of the souls Of the leading heads of humanity who make a trade On human blood: the most precious gist of the universe.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Infuse into them astuteness to discern the difference Between just and unjust, between right and wrong, Instead of making tiresome efforts to please the kings And approving their all actions though immoral, Write not panegyrics lest you should become accomplices Against the crime of trampling sanctity, And deforming magnificence of the Mother Earth.
O! Poets and Men of Letters awake Impede the itchy fingers of the leprous hands Lest they should press the buttons in their own craze, If once they push the buttons, there will be a chain in reaction, And then holocaust, extinction of biological life, The cities, the towns, and the villages big or small, The parks and streets, the houses and huts will become silent. The earth will move dull drab, into spaces around the sun, With a load of skeletons, skulls and bones, But all purposeless like an astray stallion whose veteran Is killed in the battle and it runs away unrestrained.
Oh! Man Mend The Ways Old
I once in a dream flew into the world of future, On the wings of fear, with the heart of agony, And landed into a burnt zone, Remotely resembled the world of man, All wrapped in grimness of smoke.
I beheld men and women: The remains of nations in rags, All grubby with harrowed faces, Impressionless eyes they had in the sockets.
They were at war against one another, Not for high objectives nor to subjugate the Earth, But for water, food and zones of fresh air. They all carried the charred clubs, Or the sable stones in their hands, When they were at rest they shivered with cold, Oh! Man mend the ways old.
The First Phase
The spheres of inferno hang around the Earth, Fire in the hearts, flames in the minds, Fury are the thoughts, horror resides in the souls.
Future is wrapped in the sheets of grimness Shadows of actual joy fled away from the Earth Soldiers march in bewilderment without knowing Least the cause of killing and being killed, The politicians’ idiosyncrasy has them hypnotized, The sons, daughters and sweet partners are horrid, And uncertain whether they will return Or mingle and mix their blood, their flesh, their bones Into dust of the craters, trenches of the battleground Among the scattered carcasses covering all the field.
Lo! Explosions raise the storms of dust, Bullets make ineffectual leaps to perforate the sky, Holocaust begin to descend, All around the prostitute of Death knocks Raising the powdered Earth and smoke of explosives Scanting the noses, burning the eyes, Cannons shells explode deafening the ears.
The guns that with the fiery mouths Are gushing forth fire will become silent soon, The amphitheatre of carcasses will extend beyond the sight. Ah! They will not return home but their ghosts To console sons, daughters and partners of life, Tomorrow politicians will chatter in the dinning hall, The first phase to win the election is accomplished.
Unexpressed Cries
(Written on the deaths of infants when the Israel attacked Palestine)
O! I came into your world Not with my own will I was sent here by God From the better calm world Or dragged by my parents To realize their dreams.
The strangers’ arms rock me, Who sings lullaby to put me asleep Where are my own dad and mom? They do not kiss my cheeks Who are these who weep, And drop warm tears on my forehead Free of wrinkles?
What are the sounds, That I have been hearing, Since birth, No more than a month ago?
What tingles my tiny eyes? What torments my little nose? I see darkness dancing, And listen to wailings all around. Is there any one to tell me, What is going on in the world? I am too little to know The roots of clashes; I only hear grumble growl Of flying birds of iron And then: Boom boom boom… Bang bang bang… Tut tut tut…shew shew shew…
Lo! What comes with a streak Of a horrible spurtion, Perhaps a flying adder, Ah tut….
