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Warmoog

Selective Memory

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Warmoog   

Sitting under a fruitless tree

A nomad scratches his in contemplation

As the sun’s glare burns his skin

He wonders if life’s his damnation

And if death holds rewards for him

Counting himself among many 'victims'

Of wars, loss, turmoil and injustice

But does the blood spilt not stain everyone's hands?

Or is he truly innocent… faultless

Is that how God sees him?

Mortal memory, how convenient it is

Has he forgotten his role in the scheme?

Or is he being deceptive…

His guilt is he trying to conceal?

Dismissing how he and those before him

Conceived and - from its infancy - bred the beast

Fed it with arrogance and pride

Till it awoke, blood-thirsty, for its feast…

And how he loved it more than his neighbors

Fought for it more than his deen

Made excuses for its existence

This vile thing called qabiil

 

(Salaamz.)

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J.Lee   

Yasmine! Dang Macaanto Mansha'allah, that has to be one of the best poems I have read on here. Short and sweet. direct and deep.

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Memories a bit too sweet but for same, it is

testless to spit out. Not have i seen the sun picking out from the north nor will i see a Imigrants imigrating back to they land or nor will

ye go back from memories.

 

I hope it could relate to you!!!!!!

nice work 1.

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