Share Your Favourite Poems

[- Femme -]

I would appreciate it if my fellow Nomads will post their favourite poemes or ones that touched them. YOu can also post Somali or Arabic poems so that those who can read it may enjoy it.

 

 

If

Rudyard Kelping

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

 

If you can dream and not make dreams your master;

If you can think and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

 

 

This man is writing for his son...but I thought it was so beautiful and honest.

[Warrior of Light]

^^^^ Thats my favorite .

[- Femme -]

Imagine

Anonymous

 

Imagine yourself after you pass away

Imagine your grave through night and through day

Wishing that you did not do as they say

Wishing that you had got up and had prayed.

 

Imagine, my friends, the day that you died

Imagine all of the tears that they cried

Remember how it felt when your body was tied

Remember how it felt in the grave which you lied.

 

Imagine the day you'll be called to account

Imagine the sum to which your life will ammount

Think for a moment of the deeds which you mount

Think for a moment how much they will count.

 

What will they say of you when you are dead?

What will they say, what will be said?

Will they speak of all the poor who you fed?

Will they remember all the Qur`an that you read?

 

Think not of them, but of Allah, Lord of mankind and jinn

Think of Allah when tempted to sin

Think of the paradise which you will dwell in

Don't wait till later to think what might have been.

 

This one always brings tears to my eyes.

[IL CAPO]

i got a whole lot of favourite poems and i will try to post and share some of them with you Insha Allah.

 

P.S Nice 1 Femme Fatale.

Peace.

[sheherazade]

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

W. B. Yeats

 

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread carefully because you tread on my dreams.

[NGONGE]

In today’s Times newspaper, one of the columnists ridicules the British government’s plan of moving 600 hundred of its soldiers from Basra to the “Sunni Triangle†in Iraq. He quotes a couple of lines from the old poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. In it, he praises the dedication and loyalty of soldiers and mocks the silly decisions politicians make. Enjoy.

 

 

The Charge of the Light Brigade

 

1.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

 

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Their's not to make reply,

Their's not to reason why,

Their's but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

 

3.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

 

 

4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

 

 

5.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

 

 

6.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

[-Serenity-]

She walks in Beauty

 

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that 's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light 5

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; 10

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

 

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824

[- Femme -]

The Forsaken

by Duncan Campell Scott

 

I

Once in the winter

Out on a lake

In the heart of the north-land,

Far from the Fort

And far from the hunters,

A Chippewa woman

With her sick baby,

Crouched in the last hours

Of a great storm.

Frozen and hungry,

She fished through the ice

With a line of the twisted

Bark of the cedar,

And a rabbit-bone hook

Polished and barbed;

Fished with the bare hook

All through the wild day,

Fished and caught nothing;

While the young chieftain

Tugged at her breasts,

Or slept in the lacings

Of the warm tikanagan.

All the lake-surface

Streamed with the hissing

Of millions of iceflakes

Hurled by the wind;

Behind her the round

Of a lonely island

Roared like a fire

With the voice of the storm

In the deeps of the cedars.

Valiant, unshaken,

She took of her own flesh,

Baited the fish-hook,

Drew in a gray-trout,

Drew in his fellows,

Heaped them beside her,

Dead in the snow.

Valiant, unshaken,

She faced the long distance,

Wolf-haunted and lonely,

Sure of her goal

And the life of her dear one:

Tramped for two days,

On the third in the morning,

Saw the strong bulk

Of the Fort by the river,

Saw the wood-smoke

Hand soft in the spruces,

Heard the keen yelp

Of the ravenous huskies

Fighting for whitefish:

Then she had rest.

 

II

 

Years and years after,

When she was old and withered,

When her son was an old man

And his children filled with vigour,

They came in their northern tour on the verge of winter,

To an island in a lonely lake.

There one night they camped, and on the morrow

Gathered their kettles and birch-bark

Their rabbit-skin robes and their mink-traps,

Launched their canoes and slunk away through the islands,

Left her alone forever,

Without a word of farewell,

Because she was old and useless,

Like a paddle broken and warped,

Or a pole that was splintered.

Then, without a sigh,

Valiant, unshaken,

She smoothed her dark locks under her kerchief,

Composed her shawl in state,

Then folded her hands ridged with sinews and corded with veins,

Folded them across her breasts spent with the nourishment of children,

Gazed at the sky past the tops of the cedars,

Saw two spangled nights arise out of the twilight,

Saw two days go by filled with the tranquil sunshine,

Saw, without pain, or dread, or even a moment of longing:

Then on the third great night there came thronging and thronging

Millions of snowflakes out of a windless cloud;

They covered her close with a beautiful crystal shroud,

Covered her deep and silent.

But in the frost of the dawn,

Up from the life below,

Rose a column of breath

Through a tiny cleft in the snow,

Fragile, delicately drawn,

Wavering with its own weakness,

In the wilderness a sign of the spirit,

Persisting still in the sight of the sun

Till day was done.

Then all light was gathered up by the hand of God and hid in His breast,

Then there was born a silence deeper than silence,

Then she had rest.

 

This poems reminds me of how parents sacrifice a lot for us when we are young..and when we get older we forget, take them forgranted, and are ungrateful. May Allah bless our parents and is merciful to them as they were to us when we were young. Amen

[Baashi]

Don't Quit

 

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit-

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

 

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a fellow turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out.

Don't give up though the pace seems slow -

You may succeed with another blow.

 

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the struggler has given up

Whe he might have captured the victor's cup;

And he learned too late when the night came down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

 

Success is failure turned inside out -

The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It might be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -

It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

 

Succeed in believing that you will not fail,

Use diligence and determination to set your sail,

When the weather is stormy and the waters are rough;

In the moment of peril the strong get tough

Whenever life presses you down a bit

Stand up and shout, "I will not quit!"

 

~Unknown~

[- Femme -]

^^^OH I love that one!!! I read it somewhere once long time ago. Then I forgot what it was called, and couldnt find it.

 

Thanx Baashi

[NGONGE]

The following is a poem; song, nursery rhyme and story all rolled into one. Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

Abdul Abulbul Amir

Written By: Percy French

Copyright Unknown

 

The sons of the prophet were hardy and bold,

And quite unaccustomed to fear,

But the bravest of these was a man, I am told

Named Abdul Abulbul Amir.

 

This son of the desert, in battle aroused,

Could spit twenty men on his spear.

A terrible creature, both sober and soused

Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.

 

When they needed a man to encourage the van,

Or to harass the foe from the rear,

Or to storm a redoubt, they had only to shout

For Abdul Abulbul Amir.

 

There are heroes aplenty and men known to fame

In the troops that were led by the Czar;

But the bravest of these was a man by the name

Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool

And perform on the Spanish Guitar.

In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team

Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;

He could drink them all under the bar.

As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank

With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun

And donned his most truculent sneer

Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe

Of Abdul Abulbul Amir

 

"Young man," quoth Bulbul, "has life grown so dull,

That you're anxious to end your career?

Vile infidel! Know, you have trod on the toe

Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."

 

"So take your last look at the sunshine and brook

And send your regrets to the Czar;

By this I imply you are going to die,

Mr. Ivan Skavinsky Skivar."

 

Quoth Ivan, "My friend, your remarks, in the end,

Will avail you but little, I fear,

For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive,

Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir!"

 

Then this bold mameluke drew his trusty chibouque

With a cry of "Allah Akbar!"

And with murderous intent, he ferociously went

For Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

They parried and thrust and they side-stepped and cussed

'Till their blood would have filled a great pot.

The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,

Say that hash was first made on that spot.

 

They fought all that night, 'neath the pale yellow moon;

The din, it was heard from afar;

And great multitudes came, so great was the fame

of Abdul and Ivan Skivar.

 

As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life -

In fact, he was shouting "Huzzah!" - -

He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck,

Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

The sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,

Expecting the victor to cheer;

But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh

Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

 

Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue

Rode up in his new crested car.

He arrived just in time to exchange a last line

With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

 

A loud-sounding splash from the Danube was heard

Resounding o'er meadows afar;

It came from the sack fitting close to the back

Of Ivan Skavinsky Skovar.

 

There's a tomb rises up where the blue Danube flows;

Engraved there in characters clear;

"Ah stranger, when passing, please pray for the soul

Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."

 

A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,

'Neath the light of the pale polar star;

And the name that she murmurs as oft as she weeps

Is Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.

Don't be fooled by the website

[- Femme -]

Thins that Make Hearts Break

Tupac Shakur

 

pretty smiles

deceiving laughs

and people who dream with their eyes open

lonely children

unanswered cries

and souls that have given up hoping

The other thing that breaks hearts

R fairy tales that never come true

and selfish people who lie 2 me

selfish people just like u

 

 

I've Seen Your Soul Before

Tupac Shakur

 

There are things we cant explain

So we usually tend to ignore

The unpleasant side to the human race

Like poverty and war

Its deja vu when i cry

When i see you i realize it even more

I know your heart like i know mine

Because ive seen your soul before

I recognize your tear drops

And the clouds inside your head

I related to your sorrow

And every word you said

The creator to so many things

We never realize what for

Now i know why i met you

Because ive seen your soul before

The space between your heart and your mind

Is sometimes called the soul

The personification to you morals

And your emotional control

Stronger than the human spirit

The human soul you cant ignore

Faster than you thoughts

Because ive seen your soul before

[- Femme -]

A Cry from an Indian Wife

Pauline Johnson

 

My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell;

We may not meet tomorrow; who can tell

What mighty ills befall our little band,

Or what you'll suffer from the white man's hand?

Here is your knife! I thought 'twas sheathed for aye.

No roaming bison calls for it today;

No hide of prairie cattle will it maim;

The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game:

'Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host.

Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost.

Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack,

Nor raise Thy hand against this stipling pack

Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell

Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel.

They all are young and beautiful and good;

Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood.

Curse to the fate that brought them from the East

To be our chiefs--to make our nation least

That breathes the air of this vast continent.

Still their new rule and council is well meant.

They but forget we Indians owned the land

From ocean unto ocean; that they stand

Upon a soil that centuries agone

Was our sole kingdom and our right alone.

They never think how they would feel today,

If some great nation came from far away,

Wresting their country from their hapless braves,

Giving what they gave us--but wars and graves.

Then go and strike for liberty and life,

And bring back honour to your Indian wife.

Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me?

Who pities my poor love and agony?

What white-robed priest prays for your safety here,

As prayer is said for every volunteer

That swells the ranks that Canada sends out?

Who prays for vict'ry for the Indian scout?

Who prays for our poor nation lying low?

None--therefore take your tomahawk and go.

My heart may break and burn into its core,

But I am strong to bid you go to war.

Yet stay, my heart is not the only one

That grieves the loss of husband and of son;

Think of the mothers o'er the inland seas;

Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees;

One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child

That marches on toward the North-West wild.

The other prays to shield her love from harm,

To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm.

Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think,

Your tomahawk his life's best blood will drink.

She never thinks of my wild aching breast,

Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest

Endangered by a thousand rifle balls,

My heart the target if my warrior falls.

O! coward self I hesitate no more;

Go forth, and win the glories of the war.

Go forth, nor bend to greed of white men's hands,

By right, by birth we Indians own these lands,

Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low . . .

Perhaps the white man's God has willed it so.

 

I read this poem when I was studying Native literature and poetry in Canda. It has stayed with me ever since. Pauline Johnson is half white and half Native Indian

[Golden Girl]

maashalah femma sis, i liked that 1, it was touching jzk khyr for sharing

[Golden Girl]

Imagine yourself after you pass away

Imagine your grave through night and through day

Wishing that you did not do as they say

Wishing that you had got up and had prayed.

 

Imagine, my friends, the day that you died

Imagine all of the tears that they cried

Remember how it felt when your body was tied

Remember how it felt in the grave which you lied.

 

Imagine the day you'll be called to account

Imagine the sum to which your life will ammount

Think for a moment of the deeds which you mount

Think for a moment how much they will count.

 

What will they say of you when you are dead?

What will they say, what will be said?

Will they speak of all the poor who you fed?

Will they remember all the Qur`an that you read?

 

Think not of them, but of Allah, Lord of mankind and jinn

Think of Allah when tempted to sin

Think of the paradise which you will dwell in

Don't wait till later to think what might have been.

Maashallah femma sis, i liked that 1 it was touching , jzk khyr for sharing