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English poetry

English poetry (2)

Saturday, 28 April 2012 17:13

Poetry - Lament of a Palestinian Child

Written by

Lament of a Palestinian Child

Would someone help stop the battle,
I can't hear the sound of my rattle.

There is too much noise,
As I look for my toys.

Beneath the pile of bricks and stones,
I find no toys, just blood and bones.

My mother is 'asleep' with blood on her chest,
My father was martyred and laid to rest.

As this girl's eyes well up with tears, she holds on to them,
and continues her sad lament

My tears I must hold,
As I was always told.

Not to cry
Martyrs never die.

I may miss my toys,
And all childhood joys.

But no tears should fall from my eyes,
Which have seen broken promises and lies.

The Muslim Ummah and Arab land,
Had promised to hold my hand.

Left me alone for a 'Super Power',
Strength of Islam replaced by dollar's shower.

No Muslim or Ummah stretched its hand,
Just resolutions and protests to save our land.

As I stand clutching my doll,
I hear a shot and see it fall.
Broken in pieces, covered in blood,
My body bleeds, as I fall in mud.

A Zionist Soldier with a smile on his face,
Says: "Takes more than prayers to win a race."


Monday, 15 October 2007 12:01

My Beloved (Poetry)

Written by




There was a time in my youth,

When Islam was only a custom.

They said "say La IIaha IIIa Allah,..

And pray, you'll go to Heaven."


Ah, how simple, no struggle in this,

Just a word, and simple act.

Thereafter I'm absorbed in this world again,

With my 'assured' place in Paradise intact.


But this was not to be my fate

For ALLAH chose to guide my heart.

I learnt of a man who struggled so hard

When his mission was from the start.


The story of someone who had morals,

Spoke gently, kindness he knew.

Never fearing to say what's right,

His conviction in ISLAM was true.


The touch of his hand was as soft as silk

To comfort a crying child.

To mend his clothes, or do the chores,

Never complaining, he always smiled.


A living he made with his bare hands,

The same that held his mighty sword.

Valour shone from the edge of his blade,


His smell was always of musk,

And cleanliness he kept at his best.

Stark contrast with the heroes of today,

Who stink of beer and sweat.


He held the hands of his companions.

Unashamed to play with many children.

So modest, so humble, a perfect example,

That strangers could not recognise him.


His eyes slept little for nights were precious,

His prayers he treasured much greater.

To pray Tahajjud in the depths of night,

Seeking forgiveness, and nearness to his Creator.


He broke his tooth for me at Uhud,

And bled for me at Ta'if.

He cried for me, tears of concern,

Just so I could have this belief.


His enemies admired his teachings,

Uniting every religion, every clan.

Till ISLAM came to every corner of the world,

O, but indeed he was only a man.


To own a house, or build his wealth

Was not his main priority.

To establish ISLAM was more essential,

To bring us under a Higher Authority.


Don't you want him to plea for your case,

When before ALLAH-The Judge-you stand?

Don't you wish to be around his fountain,

A burning desire to drink from his hand?


So I love him more than all creation,

My Leader, my Humble Prophet.

Muhammad (SAWS) was a mercy to all mankind,

And to me, he is




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