Montada Poems Database

Hi Mates.....
Today I've got a fresh idea I hope that it will raise with English forum up...It's clear from the title"Montada Poems Database"....So This subject will be the source of every English poem in this forum but it will not be done without your help....Without the members of this forum It will not be done.....So for any one who want to share his poem just let him send his poem as a Replay in this subject and if possible the name of Poet .....Thank you

Note: Please Send poems only nothing else"Even thanks", In order to save the appearance of this subject as best as possible to readers...I Beg Your Pardon

Spirits

Angel spirits of sleep
White-robed, with silver hair
In your meadows fair
Where the willows weep
And the sad moonbeam
On the gliding stream
Writes her scatter'd dream

Angel spirits of sleep
Dancing to the weir
In the hollow roar
Of its waters deep
Know ye how men say
That ye haunt no more
Isle and grassy shore
With your moonlit play
That ye dance not here
White-robed spirits of sleep
All the summer night
Threading dances light?

By: Robert Symour

o Captain! My Sick Captain! One failed inning you played,
The nation has faced all the odds, the reward pined is relayed.
The target was easy, fragmented mind, people crying,
The courtier taste the cream, nation is sad and dying.
I see the bleeding masses in tattered,
My crowned Captain feigning cold and dead.
o Captain! My Sick Captain! Get up and see the toll,
Rise up to furl the flag and hear the call.
People offered you banquets and wreaths taming,
But crushing them by your misdeeds, you are turning.
Lost in burqa,
Never thinks of hunger, thirst and labor rage.
My Captain turning aside, his lips are pale and still,
My leader does not feel the pain, no face, no will.
Crown is placed safe and sound, target closed and won,
From divided nation, the victory touched with sweet run.
Listen sad cries and ring the bell right
Don’t be afraid of Madam White.
Crippled on the red My Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead he cries

Love’s Secret

Never seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be;

For the gentle wind does move

Silently, invisibly.



I told my love, I told my love,

I told her all my heart;

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,

Ah! she did depart!



Soon as she was gone from me,

A traveler came by,

Silently, invisibly
He took her with a sigh

By:Blake

http://i560.photobucket.com/albums/s...eofAllah-1.png
Angina

After midnight, when everybody have gone home..
Under the rain, where you are alone..

12.13 AM
Walking fast, heading into the metro station..
Wishing only if you can stop this sedation..


12.20 AM
Sweaty , wet, with no umbrella..
Blending with wind like dentella..


12.23 AM
Feeling tired, felling hit..
But trust me, the real pain has not begun yet..


12.27 AM
Finally, the metro station..
Going down the stairs very slowly, like slow animation..

Down there, there is nobody except you..
Again alone, again you go..


12.31 AM
You are sitting on a wooden bench, just in front of the railway..
Waiting for the arrival of the 1.00 AM metro there..

Suddenly it began, without introduction..
A great pain like swords’ hits, a great suffer like soul suction..

How is the feel? Like an iron fist..
Squeezing your heart, penetrating your chest..


12.32 AM
The pain is eradicating to your left shoulder..
Your right hand is supporting it like a holder..

The pain is eradicating to your left arm..
Your left hand is in your pocket, searching for the charm..

Finally you found the nitroglycerin tablets..
You put one of them sublingual, just as written in the pamphlet..


12.33 AM
Pain is not relieved put getting worse, your ears are humming like a timbre..
Only now you pay attention, only now you begin to remember..

How many evils did you commit?
How many good things have you only promised?

Many prayers are missed..
Many things are still in your to-do list..

You did not even pray the isha prayer..
Why considering your prayers were you – always- a delayer?


12.34 AM
You stood on your feet, trying to defeat your tiredness..
You began to walk, trying not to lose your consciousness..


12.36 AM
Climbing the stairs, felling colder..
Wishing only if you can survive longer..


12.37 AM
Again under the rain, pain is your only sensation..
With the heaven’s water, you started your ablution..


12.41 AM
Sitting on the same wooden bench, shivering..
Semi-conscious, suffering..

Your right hand is holding your chest..
Your left one can not be even felt..

With your right index only, you started your isha prayer..
It may not be a long one, but sure during it you will be loyal..

Pray pray, even it is the last thing to do..
Pray pray, may Allah forgive you..
Pray pray…..


12.50 AM
………………..


1.05 AM
The metro has arrived at the station, the metro has left..
Neither in nor out, nobody has made a shift..

By: Mohammed Suity :ee2:

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My Choice

When I walk along the way
The people just stare at me in dismay

They think that I’m forced to wear that “thing”
But actually I wear it for Allah, The King

Maybe they think that I am not free
Just because I wear a headscarf on me

But that’s not true, I am really free
I wear it for Allah, The Almighty

The way we dress is not to show some skin
But for people to judge us not by our body, but from within

They might call me names or even start to stare
But what makes me keep going is knowing Allah is there

So when you pass me walking down the street
Don’t think that I am forced to cover myself up to my feet

It’s a simple way to be modest and humble
So don’t be next to me and start to grumble

I feel proud and tall when I wear my clothe
Because I have nothing at all to show and expose

Now you could only judge my character and my personality
And not of how I dress myself, but for my morality

So this scarf that I have on
Is my choice so don’t be alarmed

I felt right and true when I put my Hijab on from the start
Its because it calmed me, purified me, and soothed my heart

But really the only difference between you and me
Is that I just cover my hair and my body

So if any of you ever see me and hear my voice
Just know that what I wear is only my choice

By: Do not know the writer, but the submitter is called sarahr101

http://i560.photobucket.com/albums/s...eofAllah-1.png
Jenin

Jenin, the ravaged innocence of a land so pure
we all believed she was gone for sure

But from the beneath the rubble she rose up high
And insisted to boldly resist and defy -

the butchering tyrants who cowardly retreated
in the face of warriors who refused to be defeated

They declared “Our Allegiance is to Allah alone!”
“If we run out of bullets then we will fight with stone!”

But after her first wounds healed she was attacked again
And her people asked…………. “Oh Allah When?”

“When will our brothers come to our aid?
How long will they wait and be afraid?”

“When will they realise the extent of our pain?
How long will we call for them in vein?”

“Are the tears of our mothers really that cheap?
Or can’t they see our wounds that are so deep?”

Are the cries of our children not enough?
To move their hearts that have become so tough?

“Oh mighty Allah we will continue to wait
And we will certainly be pleased with our fate”

So u see my dear brothers.. Jenin is waiting
For us to stop our disputing and hating

The nation of Muhammad must once again rise
To free and claim Jenin it as its prize

To Sharon and Israel a message I send
Jihad and resistance will never end

Jenin is Palestine and Palestine to me
Is a land that Allah promised me

And this is why I firmly believe
That freedom we will surely achieve

The Armies of Omar and Salah Al-deen
Shall again return to Free Falasteen!

By: Ryan Mahmoud

http://i560.photobucket.com/albums/s...eofAllah-1.png
UNSEEN PLANET
Black red skies and land beneath, a tiny ocean deep inside.
Clouds and walls so soft and warm, the safest place to hide.
Constant sounds of thunder, a beat of repetition.
Life the ambition, survival the mission.

This world closes in, gets harder to move,
A mission made harder, a new urge to improve.
Concentration, no hesitation, this need to join a nation.
A new way of life, a new destination.

Screams vibrate through this planet, pain, pure pain.
Desperation, frustration, as a body pours down it’s rain.
The tiny ocean moved on to the next world, leaving behind.
An unseen creation, an escape it must find.

Trapped in the walls that once was protecting.
A creation alone, this world is rejecting.
Hearts race, two worlds uniting so fast.
How much longer can this agony last?

Wait…an escape, sudden instinct and know how.
Seems impossible, but needs to be done some how.
Climbing down in search of the ocean before it.
Seeking this new life, a want to explore it.

Freezing air as the old home is lost forever,
This new place smells odd and has awful weather.
Then all of a sudden a beautiful smell comforts this lost new form.
A tender fountain with the richest of milk to feed a life just born.

The sound of thunder from back home, once again is heard.
Familiar voice and beat of hearts without a single word.
Being wiped from its old life within the planet called a womb.
Baby safe and mother cries, looking forward, to seeing baby bloom.

By: Do not know the writer,but the submitter is called repenter86

http://i560.photobucket.com/albums/s...eofAllah-1.png

An Iraqi Baby

This is the story that must be told
of an Iraqi baby, not very old.

Lying in her crib one star lit night
How could she know of those planes in flight?

She lay there quietly touching her nose,
Watching her mobile, wiggling her toes,

Oohing and cooing, so sweetly is she,
Talking to someone, who could it be?

An angel is standing with her in the room.
The baby is smiling, unaware of her doom.

The crib starts to shake and the mobile goes round.
And suddenly comes a most deafening sound.

The ceiling drops in, in a second or two ...
On top of her crib so she ceases to coo ...

No one knows how long she lie there
Who thought about it? doesn't anyone care?

Is she alive? is she dead? Is she in any pain?
Now that you mention it, who knows her name?

Her name is Amal. In English we say Hope.
Crushed between the rubble,her tiny fingers start to grope.

Where is my mommy? I love her so dear
Come, get me mommy! It's dark in here!

I'm scared and I'm hungry and I can't see my feet.
There's blood in my mouth! Give me something to eat!

Where is my daddy? Where's my big brother?
It hurts when I breath! Where is my mother?!

How long have I been here? Is this just a dream?
I open my mouth, but can't even scream.

That angel appears once again to my side,
This time with a tear I plead Why have I died?

Am I alone in my sufferings? No, there are many others.
In our grief and our misery, we are sisters and brothers.

Who are we? I ask you ... for what crime did we die?
They're throwing a party! Doesn't anyone cry?!

Is it True? Am I nothing?! How could it be?
Don't they also have babies, just like me?

It is war they say, of which death is part.
How blind they've become, How hardened of heart.

Did someone say hero? To whom do they speak?
A victory claimed for killing the weak?!

Why are they happy? Why are they proud?
Don't they know that I'm cold in my burial shroud?!

No war has been won; No ifs, buts, or maybes,
They've Only Killed Babies!!!!

Signed Me,
An Iraqi Baby

By: Do not know

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When shall we Learn?

A Bosnian youth rendered shelterless in the snow capped heights
No hope, no aid, not even a grain of food to fill his appetite
Left in the open to shiver to death at night
Encountered by starvation in the day and the Serbian might
With faith in his heart, like a glimmer of light
He picks up arms to avenge his people's sorry plight
A terrorist they call him and terrorism his fight
Only to stop their crimes from coming under light
A fanatic, extremist, fundamentalist he is portayed
But the light of Eeman and the zeal in his heart
Cannot be diminished by propaganda so farce
A Palestinian boy with a sling in his hand
Pelting stones at the occupiers of the Holy Land
A terrorist he is by the law of this age
Agonized and tortured like a bird locked in his cage;
Marching on silently to death in captivity
To break free from the fetters of an unbearable agony
From the valley of Kashmir, rise the cries of the oppressed
The tortured, terrified, raped and suppressed
With weapons in their hand and their cause so sublime
Waging "jihad" against the barbarians of their time
A struggle for peace, against injustice and oppression
Against the killings and destruction, the torture not to mention
Yet the World turns it's eye blind towards the atrocities perpetrated
The people maimed and the violence so naked
In the freezing cold of Grozny's plains
Land missiles, bombs and shells unrestrained
Roofs blown off and buildings razed
Civilians carnaged and buried in mass graves
An army drunken, let loose like dogs untamed
To dishonour the people, like beasts insane
"Concerned we are", says the hypocrite Uncle Sam
Yet gloats and cares not even a damn
"Terrorists", they are branded, with bloodstains on their own hands
So shamelessly they commiserate with the oppressor, committing massacres in the land
When shall we learn?
And not just cry for help and yearn?
For the global powers to intervene
Is it not enough, what we have seen?
From the bombardment of Iraq and Lebanon
To the land mines in Afghanistan
And the mass graves in Bosnia and Kosovo
To the human right abuses in Kashmir
When shall we learn?
And not just cry for help and yearn?
That we are the architects of our own destiny
And not the western help, nor its money
Uncle Sam, UN and NATO shall never intervene
Except when the mass graves are dug and the blood bath is over

By: Do not know

Nice thread Dr. o
...

Faking emo

Everyone thinks its so trendy to be emo,
To slash their wrists, and pretend to be bi,
To write bad poetry and listen to bad songs,
But they don't know what its like to need it.
She doesn't cut to be part of a trend,
She doesn't show it off, and makes sure to hide it
Behind thick bracelets and long sleeves.
These "emo kids" wear too much black makeup
So that everyone will know when they cry
Because thats the in thing to do right?
And the ones that can't cry in class
Draw big tear drops in eyeliner on their cheeks
Like the stupid, f**king posers they are.
But she cries more than they will ever know,
Sitting at the back of the class, all alone
Hood up, head down, shes invisible
And she doesn't wear makeup, so it isn't obvious.
She thinks no one cares about her,
And she's probably right, because
Its hard to care about someone
you don't even know is alive.
One day, she'll probably cut too deep,
let it bleed too long, by accident
Or maybe on purpose, and they might never know.
And no one will ever no why,
And a beautiful mind could be wasted
Because not a single person even pretended to care.

By: angelsins

__________________

Hope you like it as much as i did, even though i dont think you well

In a Dark Time

***

In a dark time , the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood
A lord of nature weeping to a tree .
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

***

What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance ?the day's on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweeting wall.
That place among the rocks is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

***

A steady storm of correspondences !
A night flowing with birds ,a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is
Death of the self in a long , tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

***

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul , like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill .Which I is I?
A fallen man , I climb out of my fear .
The mind enters itself , and God the mind,
And one is One , free in the tearing wind.


THEODORE ROETHKE
(1908__1963)

..

It's an old poem but a great one In my opinion
Thanks Dr prince for the post
^^