[Bluestar]

Muhammed al Obeidi, his poems were very famous during the 1920's when the Iraqis were trying to establish an independant country, free from British intervention.

Set fire noble Iraqis
wash our shame with blood
We are not slaves
to adorn our necks with collars
We are not prisoners to submit ourselves to be manacled
We are not women
whose only weapon is the tear
We are not orphans
that seek a Mandate for Iraq
And if we bow before oppression
We shall forfeit the pleasures of the Tigris.

[Bluestar]

The Jackals' Weddings

O, Mudhaffar al-Nawab,
my life-long comrade
What are we to do about the jackals' wedding?

You remember the old days
In the cool of the evening
under a bamboo roof
propped on soft cushions stuffed with fine wool
we'd sip tea (a tea I've never since tasted)
among friends...
Night falls as softly as our words
under the darkening crowns of the date palms
while smoke curls from the hearth, such fragrance
as if the universe had just begun

Then a cackling explodes
from the long grass and date palms -
the jackals' wedding!

O, Mudhaffar al-Nawab -
today isn't yesterday
(truth is as evanescent as the dream of a child) -
truth is, this time we're at their wedding reception
yes, the jackals' wedding
you've read their invitation:

For tho' we trudge past Dahna empty-handed
We depart Dareen our purses line with gold
'While the town folk attend to their affairs
Now, Zuraik fleece them, quick as a fox!'

O, Mudhaffar al-Nawab,
let's make a deal:

I'll go in your place
(Damascus is too far away from that secret hotel...)
I'll spit on their lists,
I'll declare that we are the people of Iraq -
we are the ancestral trees of this land,
proud beneath our modest roof of bamboo.

By Saadi Youssef

The Jackels Wedding refers to the collaborators in the occupation of Iraq

Dahna, Dareen and Zureik are references to pre quranic texts

[Bluestar]

Kabul (translated by Dr Josephine Davis)

Ah! How beautiful is Kabul encircled by her arid mountains
And Rose, of the trails of thorns she envies
Her gusts of powdered soil, slightly sting my eyes
But I love her, for knowing and loving are born of this same dust

My song exhalts her dazzling tulips
And at the beauty of her trees, I blush
How sparkling the water flows from Pul-I-Bastaan!
May Allah protect such beauty from the evil eye of man!

Khizr chose the path to Kabul in order to reach Paradise
For her mountains brought him close to the delights of heaven
From the fort with sprawling walls, A Dragon of protection
Each stone is there more precious than the treasure of Shayagan

Every street of Kabul is enthralling to the eye
Through the bazaars, caravans of Egypt pass
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls

Her laughter of mornings has the gaiety of flowers
Her nights of darkness, the reflections of lustrous hair
Her melodious nightingales, with passion sing their songs
Ardent tunes, as leaves enflamed, cascading from their throats

And I, I sing in the gardens of Jahanara, of Sharbara
And even the trumpets of heaven envy their green pastures

by Saib e Tabrizi 17th century

(Part of this poem was also used in khaled hosseini's most recent novel, A Thousand Splendid Suns)

[Bluestar]

Friendship

A quarter of a century since then
And we arrive to find
That Ibn Tamiyya has become
The head of a bludgeon
And Al-Muwafaq is still cleaving
Rebellious slaves
From the womb of the earth
The police of Damascus kick us
And the police of Iraq
And the English
And the French
And the Persian
And the Ottoman Police
And the police of the Fatimid Caliphs
Our families
Kick us,
Our naive, good hearted families
Our murderous families
We are the children of this madness.
Let's be whatever we wish.

written by Saadi Youssef

Reference to Ibn Taymiyya was meant to represent saudis stance towards the opposing Iraqis

[Bluestar]

I see a horizon lit with blood
And many starless night
A generation comes and another goes
And the fire keeps burning.

Al Jawahiri referring to constant opposition to British intervention in Iraq (1948)

[Bluestar]

Night of Pleasant Loneliness

Listen, the world's farthest bird is singing.
The Night is fluid, whole, and open.

Geraniums
And the loudest branch of the season, hear the moon.

Stairs in front of the building,
Door with lantern in hand,
And the lavish breeze,

Listen, the road is calling your steps from afar.
Your eye is not the darkness's ornament.
Shake your eyelids, put on your shoes and come.
Come until the moon's feather alerts you
And Time sits with you on a lump of earth
And the psalms of night, absorbs your body
Like a piece of music.

There is a pious man there who will tell you:
The best thing is to come upon a look that is still moist with love's advent.

Sohrab Sepehri

[GOTFIVEONIT]

Not many people know about Tupac Shakur's poetry and how good he was at writing. Most people only know about 'The Rose That Grew From Concrete' or 'In The Event Of My Demise'. Some are of love, some are of nature and most are of what Tupac really felt about life and his feelings.

All of these poems are writen by Tupac himself.

er%202[tu

The Rose That Grew From Concrete

Did u hear about the rose that grew from a crack
in the concrete
Proving nature's laws wrong it learned 2 walk
without having feet
Funny it seems but by keeping its dreams
it learned to breathe fresh air
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else even cared!

[Blue_Phoenix]

I read one poem by Tupac and it was from that crappy book The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry. A beatnick book strictly. I had no idea he was a legitimate poet.

[Rida]

A translation of ghalibs poem


A children’s playground; the world before me
Nightly and daily, watching its pageantry

Solomon’s throne; but, a game to me
Miracles of Messiah; a mere simplicity

The Universe; I accept, only as a name
All things, before me; nothing, but illusionary

In its dust, hides the desert, when I appear
Rivers bow at their banks, with my fear

Do not ask, in your absence, have I been lonely
Just notice the poise, you display, before me

Arrogant and egoistic; why should not, I be?
My beloved’s reflection is spread all around me

If flowery speech is what you want to see
Then place the wine goblet, right next to me

My hate is a facade, for my uncontrolled envy
Can I stop his name, being uttered before me

Faith restrains me, as temptations attack
The church in front; the mosque at my back

A lover, I am, with deceptive charms
Laila forgets Majnu, when, in my arms

Not to die for; but our union is a delight
Fulfillment of my wish on our separation night

Turbulent waves; no more!; they are a blood-soaked sea
I know not, what else, is in store for me

Though lifeless hands; but eyes, still alive
Leave the flask and wineglass, by my side

My colleague, my confidant; we share the same wine
Do not abuse Ghalib; he is a friend of mine

[Raeesa]

Omar Khayyam

(These poems were translated by Edward FitzGerald and are potentially more revealing of the thoughts of Edward than Omar.)

And, as the **** crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted - "Open then the Door!
You know how little time we have to stay,
And once departed, may return no more."

Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And that after a TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your reward is neither Here nor There!"

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their mouths are stopt with Dust.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out of the same Door as I went.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd -
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

[Rida]

kah raha hai shor e dariya se samundar ka sukuut
jis ka jitna zarf hai utna hi woh khamosh hai

the calmness of ocean tells the roaring of the river,
one's silence is as great as one's character

- Iqbal (rah)