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Two Poems from our Religious, Christian, Jewish, Islam, Baptist, etc. Poetry Collection
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| A Mirage that Rules |
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| Author: |
Suhana Begum
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| Poem: |
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Under warmth of bearers quilt,
safe and sound in cave of red,
calmed tenderness and touched in silence,
they hang on, awaiting without a clue,
for that twilight to bless lids open.
As the clock ticks and pain rings,
they arrive in their sonorous tunes,
exchanged around in gleeful arms,
blessed aside for a mere endless journey,
on paths of boderless boundaries.
But even this chronological existence,
of the mysterious mother nature,
now falling aback in hands of mankind.
As the faces of proselytizing showing up,
those mystical brains pierced in written faiths,
a wall build and list engraved
our progenitors words in vie on them
leaving no place for questioning minds.
Guided along in bureaucratic forces,
sprinkled by verses of bygones,
but yet in their powerful adolescence,
drenched in ages, those dusty scriptures
all in charge in names of salvation.
Splurge of lavish in awash to stones,
baths in milk and profoundly honored,
but all in blind to prevailing poverty,
been deaf to cries of pathetic scavengers,
victims they become in this holy massacre.
In immense spirituality, yet veracity lost,
Swords and knives they meet in rage,
bullets they dance in their vicious stage,
holocaust begins again in names of profanity,
but yet not a glimpse from supreme being above.
Legs they in search of pilgrimage,
though unaware of underlying premonitions,
laying ahead a grave for vanquished humanity,
depraved actions in their immortality,
looms around that flame of dishonesty,
all opened ajar by keys of dismay.
an existing mirage still in their eternalize,
but never seemed to cultivate a soul or two,
would it rather be dead in eyes of all,
as the vestige of our shambled world,
now lies in hands of disguised Satanism. |
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More Religious, Christian, Jewish, Islam, Baptist, etc. poems |
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| HEAT |
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| Author: |
Isaac Hopkins
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| Poem: |
HEAT |
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The hot, still air stifles all conversation, Save the droning ad for winter outfits— Odd to think about snow boots and parkas When the sun beats down, melting the farm house. Shimmers of molten air invade the shadows Missed by the sun’s blinding will. Grandpa sleeps, propped up in his chair, The cat purring weakly, its fur matted and scorching. I can take the stillness, the burning silence, The creeping, sweating boredom, no longer. Nothing shifts when I rise from my sticky chair, Except the cat which glares at me with glinting suns. No breeze will touch this farm today, but I stand And gaze at the cows dancing in the heat. My shirt pastes to my back…some fires are hotter… And I thank God for the hope of salvation.
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More Religious, Christian, Jewish, Islam, Baptist, etc. poems |
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