Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Topics - Ihsan

Pages: 1 [2]
16
Member Poetry / Hope for Peace
« on: October 20, 2002, 10:58:44 AM »
Wonderful day, wonderful feeling

Days like these give life its meaning

Today is a day of healing

Cease the bloodshed and killing

Why do we fight, take each other's life?

When we could live in harmony

Jah blessing for you and me




Many have shed precious blood

We've lived through a lack of love

Seems we were caught in a rut, total lack of trust

And not enough open communication

Today we believe we can live in one communion

And to stretch the imagination, under one nation

17
Member Poetry / Love through the children's eye
« on: October 20, 2002, 10:31:46 AM »
"Love is when someone hurts you. And
 you get so mad but you don't yell at
 him because you know it would hurt
 his feelings."


 "Love is when my mommy makes
 coffee for my daddy and she takes
 a sip before giving it to him, to
 make sure the taste is OK."

 "Love is when you tell a guy you
 like his shirt, then he wears it
 everyday."

 "Love is if you hold hands and sit
 beside each other in the cafeteria.
 That means you're in love. Otherwise,
 you can sit across from each other
 and be okay."



 "Love is when mommy sees daddy
 smelly and sweaty and still says he
 is handsomer than Robert Redbird."

 "I know my older sister loves me
 because she gives me all her old
 clothes and has to go out and buy
 new ones."

 "When you love somebody, your
 eyelashes go up and down and little
 stars come out of you."

 "You can break love, but it won't die."

18
Member Poetry / The Scarf
« on: October 20, 2002, 11:10:20 AM »
They stand there with shorts, so short, excessively short,
   shorts that so deceptively capture from them all they know
   of modesty...

   ...and I proudly pull my scarf over my hair

   They stand there, face lost in a sea of make-up,
   make-up that so ruthlessly captures from them all they know
   of freedom...

   ...and I proudly pull my scarf over my hair

   They stand there, hair raining with gels, colors -
   chemicals that so menacingly capture from them all they know
   of purity...

   ...and I proudly pull my scarf over my hair

   They stand there, so close, so very close to their "lover",
   devoted to them, the devotion that so mercilessly captures
   from them all they know of individuality...

   ...and I proudly pull my scarf over my hair

   And they stand there, talking of getting new shorts, new gels
   and colors, new boyfriends, materialistic things
   that so wrongfully capture from them all they know
   of God and love...

   ...and I proudly pull my scarf over my hair

   For my scarf is my protector, my lover, my devotion,
   my pureness, my beauty, my rememberance of God,

   And I proudly pull it over my hair knowing that when I wear it,
   I so rightfully thrust away all the things that the devil
   brought about,

   And when I put it on, I am

                              Free...

19
Member Poetry / Feeling the Pain
« on: October 20, 2002, 10:55:40 AM »
The dust still rises
from ash
and the cloud is tracked
by satellite
making its way
regardless of lines
drawn by arrogant and immature men
into my sandwich
and slipping also into the burka
of a doctor choking on the fetid breath of fear.

Each spoon of bitter ash
is a story made manifest.
A single molecule
one day composed her heart
moved on to a body soon blown apart
yesterday my brain
and tomorrow will reside
in the yellow center of a daisy in bloom.

Yet that ash
that particulate matter
of paper and steel
and flesh and bone
those molecules
are not the departed
nor Me nor She,
We being of the ages.

We women
who give birth to men,
know the bodily struggle
to throw off the man
with cruel appetites,
most intimately.
We yawn at their bedtime stories
of a fiery victory
over evil
and bid them a peaceful sleep,
careful not to wake them
when the hungry baby cries.

We know best that the struggle is long.
But our thirst for
the light of truth is deep.
Our hunger for love
more insistent
than time,
stretches beyond even the borders
of life and death.

So we wait.
Us mothers
who love our children
all our children,
will wait
until the last man
comes to the hearth
and we can all truly sleep in peace.

Pages: 1 [2]

Powered by EzPortal