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Day 1, Batch 3 Poems, Ghareeb EID Reads by Lilzmalcolm(m): 12:09am On Aug 23, 2018 |
Day 1, batch 3, Ghareeb EID reads 14. EID-IL ADHAA by Rahmah Jimoh His heart was a soft petal Bowing swiftly to the will of Allah His heart was radiant light Fully aware that this life was a mere sight. His heart hastened to the montane top, To harken to his Rabb's command To butcher not, his promise of his son's flesh. Lo and behold, His lord is the lord of mercy. And verily, this life is a test for the believers. If he had butchered away his promise, If he had forgotten the Lord of the world, This day would not an Eid be; For the fruits of his disobedience would be served to us all. Jimoh Rahma is an aspiring versatile writer. She's a lover of anything art or creative and hopes to influence the world through her write-ups. Follow her works on instagram @dynamic Rahmah. 15. FRAGILE BEING by: Hameedah Oluwaranti Adenuga What a fragile being you are! Oh Niqabi Muslimah! Sweeter than the sweet nectar The flower petals may not be fresher Glad tidings to you who cover. What a fragile being you are! You obey your Lord’s order Through Muhammad being exemplar To the believing women, his wives and daughter Glad tidings to you who cover. What a fragile being you are! Islam has you placed in the high order Maintain your dignity like revere Show the believing woman that you are Glad tidings to you who cover. What a fragile being you are! Unlike an orange, now and never That can be thrown here or far Being who you are is best better Glad tidings to you who cover. What a fragile being you are! Much like an egg that you are Can never be placed just here or there Gently seeing through your thin cover Glad tidings to you who cover. What a fragile being you are! Never mind the laughter they shower On you be peace as you obey God’s order On that day you shall return your laughter Glad tidings to you who cover. - Hameedah OG is a Nigerian Muslim poet and writer. Also a fellow at Knowislam.com.ng 16. EID MUBAROQ -Eminence ibn Daud Ismail From the corner, the market corner of the universe, we could perceive Al-misq's aroma. The cloud has changed its cloth, to the green Regalia of an unending happiness. The moon has wore its robe of an everlasting glowing, Preparing a diplomatic outing, with the distant galaxy. Oh! Here it appears, the waiting-for Hilaal, in its tiny brightest light. Let's wish it marhaban the Qurotul-aeen for the earth's dwellers. -Eidul Mubaroq. ©Eminence Ismail Ibn Daud 17. Remember us -Alamu Quadri Adebayo I am that boy whose father wrestled with death Till his breath dropped off his lungs When horrifying past still covered my face with the veil of fate While my mother was left to wander in valleys of hate and shame I also took my turns with calamitous fire That burnt my doggedness in harsh cities of despair Sitting at the heart of teary rivers flowing in my eyes I am that girl raided by mysterious agony And taken into cruel custody of melancholy In torturous dark nights interchanging with gloomy days With her survival moulded into scarred portrait of sorrow Made with ugly frames of constant sexual molestation Hanging on uncertainty's walls Built with bricks of recurring trauma I am that man rustling through the forest of miserable dilemma Like a scathing wind blowing with trembling intensity Across howlers and wilderness filled with defoliated trees of broken dreams A psychologically disabled and troubled soul Left with handicapped reflections Of his failing goals displaying on the mirror of complicated woes I am that woman plunged into primitive holes of customary crisis My image was casted upon by damnable sticks and stones On the tongues of demented society drooling demonizing lies That wetly stained my innocent existence with mud of witchcraft By the evil hands of barbaric culture Since my husband's foot got faded away on the sand of existence While my belly still remained a futile soil for the seeds of womb We are all garbs of tragic events Emblazoned with emblem of heartbroken accounts Continuously told in diverse tongues with crying tones Yet our voices remained behind bars of suppression Extremely loud yet with weak penetrative strength bended away from the ears of compassion So remember us For we are cursed as helpless creatures Enslaved by sleepless nights on the bed of thorns Even when you sleep at night on bed engulfed in fragrant roses Remember us When your lungs are tunnels of refreshing fluids While ours are deserted pipes filled with demoralising dryness Remember us As a break away fraction of negligible humanity Condemned to hideous odour in the armpits of earthly calamities Remember us For there are us in you even in affluence and comfort We are one soul sharing multiple bones We are only divided by the barricades of differing destinies For we are broken particles of walking dusts Blowing from nostrils of our ancestors from the beginning of creation - Alamu Quadri Adebayo 18. Adha: by Musa B Jibril All abode and arranged, Behind, beside the beautiful black, Circumambulating calling their cosmocrat, Dawn drowning during the daily Dawaf, Everlasting erased their entire err, From far forming furrow's foam. Ballooning their words in air with labbaikallahuma labbaik repeatedly till the and. 19. Angelic aroma -Muhammad Lustrous from the pot next door cut short his spasm of dream in hunger that forced him to lay on the corridor of nothing. If he could lift fews spoons, Even if it's two to three morsels, He would leave his famishing world for cloud nine in ecstasy. Seedling in the middle of aridity, By faith is raised in deficiency and requires extreme generosity to breathe the air of sufficiency. Spread the wings of your kindness and spare that lonely hungry child(ren) reasons to smile beyond fantasising. Lustrousﻣﺤﻤﺪ, Nigerian Muslim poet and editor. 20. THE SOLE OF HER FEET by: Yusuf Uthman Adekola Mother is a gate, A single gate to a double path. Every part of this twin path seethes with red hotness Like the liquid fire from a volcano, Yet, these paths are laced with dancing trees Spreading the tingling air of warmth. Mother is a gate covering a hot and cool lane. The fiery lane hungers for the blood-clotted soul Of the heedless goat always battering the heart of the mother With the horns of embittering actions. But the breezy path thirsts for the light-infested soul Of the gentle cat always ready to cuddle up at the mother's feet And clothe her heart with the furs of happiness. Mother is a gate, She keeps her keys under the sole of her feet, Visible to the milky eyes but invisible to the muddied ones. Remember: The sole of her feet is the mould of the blacksmith Which births the key you seek in the market of knowledge and prayer. Yusuff, Uthman Adekola is a Nigerian who is greatly in love with writing, poetry writing especially. He writes with the hope of making positive impacts on the society. He can be contacted via any of the following: E-mail, yuawrites@gmail.com ; Instagram, @writer_yua ; Facebook, adecaller01. 21. Famished Feminists by Bello Mustapha Your memory is a short! The thatch that roofed your hut You shattered with your thoughtless tongue-shots. Feminists famished of facts, Let’s hold a meeting on history mat: Were you not harboured by your ancestors? Like seeds you were buried beneath the sods By your own sods while your mothers sobbed. Then came The Deen; reached deep down into the mud; And salvaged you from the murderer mob. Were you not the most wretched of the echelon? That your mothers were divorced because you were born. Before our Deen gave you an equilibrium. Were you not the bell-shaped naked cashews? Hanging so low at the reach of chaps_ Libido-drunk, itching for a thing to chew. At the face of threat, panic and despair, A safe pair of hands_ Islam, appeared, And folded your fears in hijab garments. It erects a garden and guards your tree With a guardian angel_ old threats swopped with thrills. Famished of facts, now you fight to flee! Fine! You fled, and left in the lurch your womb fruits While you itched for a chair in the national pews. Has the chicken come not home to roost? Your absence has raised ungodly children_ The rotten apples amongst our own brethren. Yet, fairness you feign over your faulty trends; You argue fiercely like an oppressed ox But you aren't the sharpest tool in the box! (First published in 'Beyond The Castle'— a novella) Name: Bello Kolawole Mustapha (A Ghareeb Poet) Social Media Handles: Almustapha Author (Facebook), almustapha_author (Instagram) Meet Almustapha@ http://almustapha-author.com/meet-almustapha/ |
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