First They Came

First they came for the hospitals and you did not speak out except to say they wouldn’t, and anyway, tunnels.

Then they came for five-year-old Hind and you did not speak out except to say, regrettable, but anyway, hostages.

Then they came for journalists, professors, poets and you did not speak out except to say, awful, but right to self-defence.

They came for schools, mosques, aid workers, anyone in the sights of a sniper and you did not speak out except to say, yeah, but most moral army.

Now they come for starving people in tents and burn them, and you do not speak out you do not speak out you never speak out.

When they come for you expect nothing but silence.

By Steve Pottinger

After Pastor Martin Niemöller

On Pain

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

By Kahlil Gibrab

The Lonely One

Image by: Yuukon

2017 - 2023

I told the sun, not to shine and stay away I told the lake, to go dry and wash away Am I wrong? Am I strong? Walk away Do I know there are no words to say? Am I yours? Am I mine, anyway? Do I know there are no words?

I am the only princess, I am indestructible I am winged victory, I am so breakable I am the distant planet, I am the golden sun I am the broken pieces, I am the lonely one

Asked the sky to fall down on you Asked the night to be solid proof Am I good? Am I bad, or the same? Am I bad? Am I worse? Stay away Is there anything else left to say? Are there really any words?

I am a flying spaceship, identifiable I am the perfect lover, tell me, I am lovable I am the distant planet, I am the purple sun I am the highest mountain, I am the lonely one

So here's me now, without you I turn the lights out, without you Should I be frightened, without you Always night now, without you

I am the darkest morning, I am the sleeping fool I am the wandering gypsy, I am right here next to you I am the distant planet, I am the golden sun I am the empty canyon, I am the lonely one

The lonely one

"The Lonely One - Ilse DeLange"

The Repentance Of Abu Nawas

.

يارب إن عظمت ذنوبي كثرة / فلقد علمت بأن عفوك أعظم

إن كان لا يرجوك إلا محسن / فبمن يلوذ ويستجير المجرم

أدعوك ربي كما أمرت تضرعا / فإذا رددت يدي فمن ذا يرحم

مالى إليك وسيلة إلا الرجاء / وجميل عفوك ثم أني مسلم

O my Lord, if the greatness of my sins increase, then I know that Your forgiveness is greater

If only the righteous called on You, then who would the criminal go to?

I call on You my Lord, as you commanded, with reverence, And if You turn my hands away, then who else will have mercy?

I have no way to you except that of hope. And the beauty of your forgiveness and then the fact that I am a Muslim

Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

Haunted Forest

Photographer : CitizenFresh

112/15/222

Haunted Woods

Upon twisted branch, and knotted bark

The scattered sunlight breaks,

Piercing through the tangled boughs

In shifting, darkened shapes.

Into the woods, dark, deep and old,

Seen through a twilight veil,

A fleeting glimpse, a movement

A noise, a ghostly wail?

Are spirits dancing through the woods

As shadows cross the trees,

Old broken limbs, misshapen

How easily they deceive.

Ancient trees on hallowed ground

Ages have they stood,

Generations past, and now

Have walked, the haunted woods

.Poem: Copyright Gary Smith

22019

Do Not Love Half Lovers

The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

All of the night was quite barred out except

An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

But one telling me plain what I escaped

And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice

Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

Poem by: Edward Thomas

Photographer/Artist: UnKnown

Uyghur Poem Of The Day

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘪𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦

𝘕𝘰, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘵

I Tell The Tale Of Palestine

To hold on to my sanity, I tell the Tale of Palestine

To counter the overwhelming shame of membership in humanity I tell the Tale of Palestine

To attempt to have some closure after Sabra/Shatila I tell the tale of Palestine

To lower the voices of the children murdered I tell the Tale of Palestine

To express my outrage over the murder of Shireen Abu Akleh I tell the tale of Palestine

To ensure memory eternal for the Dawabshe Family I tell the tale of Palestine

To express the horror of what happened to Rachel Corrie I tell the tale of Palestine

To prevent the onset of depression, despondency, and immobilization about the decades-long repression/oppression I tell the tale of Palestine

To attempt to deal with the appalling apathy of the entire world I tell the tale of Palestine

To counter the despicable lies of Zionist Israel about my brothers and sisters in Falastin I tell the tale of Palestine

To attempt to silence the screams of the tortured political prisoners I tell the tale of Palestine

To block out the visions of children brutalized and kidnapped from their beds I tell the tale of Palestine

To counter the rage regarding the treatment of Ahmed Manasra I tell the tale of Palestine

For forty years and counting I tell the tale of Palestine

To save the soul of humanity I tell the tale of Palestine

To prevent exploding from the knowledge that my government is completely complicit in Israel’s horrendous deeds I tell the tale of Palestine

To raise public awareness of the persecution of Christians and Muslims in the Holy land I tell the tale of Palestine

To bring hope and faith to my entire being I tell the tale of Palestine

And finally, because Palestine is in my very heart and soul I tell the tale of Palestine

 – Rev. Stephens Brackens Brinkley is a San Diego-based advocate and human rights activist for unarmed civilians living under armed conflict. He contributed this poem to The Palestine Chronicle.

- Elegy For Alandalus -

~ The Guest House ~ This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice. meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. Be grateful for whatever comes. because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. Poem by: Jellaludin Rumi, Translation by: Coleman Barks

~ A Slave's Freedom ~

By Farid ud-Din Attar English version by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis Original Language Persian/Farsi

~ WithOut Peer ~

Photo by: Doctor-Honesty Photo title: I Adore You Description: Unedited Photo-shoot of a 10 inch statue of the God Osiris and his wife Isis.

Poem Name: WithOut Peer Description: Ancient Egyptian Love Poem Poem provided by: CZ

~ Broken ~ Even the rugged Surface of a cactus Is soft enough To bear flowers. There is still hope For broken souls with Hardened shells. (Noor Shirazie)

The Hundred-Word Eulogy: Praising Prophet Muhammad & Islam

The Hundred-Word Eulogy (百字讃 bǎizìzàn) is a 100-character praise of Islam and the Islamic prophet Muhammad written by the Hongwu Emperor of China (r. 1368-1398). Copies of it are on display in several mosques in Nanjing, China. English: 

Chinese:

Chinese (with punctuation in paragraph form)

Arabic: 

~ MayFlower ~

Art by: MainLoop Model: Rivi Madison Poem (portion): The May Flower Poet: Janet Hamilton

Poem Provided by: CZ