Mohammad Ahmad
11-02-2013, 11:31 AM
Government of hell
Dogs walk in the street
Half-humans personify the Satan.
Multiple microbes they prepare to be smelt.
Rotten until bone with heavy disease
Their melody perfectly is the plague
They built a bridge of death
All its walls are from the blood…
They trod the heaven under their feet
And always would say God forgive!
They disgrace each rose to be flourished again
What is a destiny that leads them to our land?
The ships were unloaded and stole
Our village totally was vacant and depressed
All scythes and shovels were dispirited
All arms from shoulder to hand are despaired
Our loaf of bread hardly is fresh
Fragment shattered pieces mixed with blood.
But our souls are fragrance of expensive perfume.
Hither and thither, a child needs to walk.
In his first year, they killed his mother.
Do the skies hear his mother petition?
What a credible picture can I draw to be known?
Nothing but only my pen still describes the disgust.
In each home, there is disgust and complainer
In each home, there is grieved young suffering his bitter.
In each home, there is pious man and worshiper
In each home, there is funerals and prayer.
Wind would carry decayed rotten corpses' odor
Still each home it has the rotten odor.
Our mill was destroyed and it had no miller.
Our dewed grass was faded under the burning sun.
Our harvest was eaten by a tyrant one.
No one, but God will ask anyone.
** *** ** *** ***
Still we smelt the smoked chimneys until—
Our nose refused to smell the perfume of rose.
Still we pretended death until—
The death itself becomes our invariable malady.
Which desire is inherited from our past days?
If we claimed the honesty never we will say yes.
Did Germany have not had a separated wall?
Now its buildings are lofty and tall.
** ****** ***** *****
Each window carried the sweet breeze was broken.
Each pen would write loyally was shaken.
Each platform would appeal the peace was destroyed.
Each lighthouse guided the sailors was abandoned.
Still there is grief and death in our valley
Still our universe is mortal and cloudy.
Still it is mortified, deuced, going badly
A forgettable bead sets apart from its rosary.
And the darkness covers the place everyway
How can you find it in this dim destiny?
Never shall we ask this dead conscience of the world.
Never shall we claim that our days are hard.
The destiny shall we take in our shoulder
Never shall we be complainer.
And our ship is ready to sail….
Across the choppy sea, it would sail.
In the Mediterranean, again it will sail.
And all those tyrants will be going to hell.
Dogs walk in the street
Half-humans personify the Satan.
Multiple microbes they prepare to be smelt.
Rotten until bone with heavy disease
Their melody perfectly is the plague
They built a bridge of death
All its walls are from the blood…
They trod the heaven under their feet
And always would say God forgive!
They disgrace each rose to be flourished again
What is a destiny that leads them to our land?
The ships were unloaded and stole
Our village totally was vacant and depressed
All scythes and shovels were dispirited
All arms from shoulder to hand are despaired
Our loaf of bread hardly is fresh
Fragment shattered pieces mixed with blood.
But our souls are fragrance of expensive perfume.
Hither and thither, a child needs to walk.
In his first year, they killed his mother.
Do the skies hear his mother petition?
What a credible picture can I draw to be known?
Nothing but only my pen still describes the disgust.
In each home, there is disgust and complainer
In each home, there is grieved young suffering his bitter.
In each home, there is pious man and worshiper
In each home, there is funerals and prayer.
Wind would carry decayed rotten corpses' odor
Still each home it has the rotten odor.
Our mill was destroyed and it had no miller.
Our dewed grass was faded under the burning sun.
Our harvest was eaten by a tyrant one.
No one, but God will ask anyone.
** *** ** *** ***
Still we smelt the smoked chimneys until—
Our nose refused to smell the perfume of rose.
Still we pretended death until—
The death itself becomes our invariable malady.
Which desire is inherited from our past days?
If we claimed the honesty never we will say yes.
Did Germany have not had a separated wall?
Now its buildings are lofty and tall.
** ****** ***** *****
Each window carried the sweet breeze was broken.
Each pen would write loyally was shaken.
Each platform would appeal the peace was destroyed.
Each lighthouse guided the sailors was abandoned.
Still there is grief and death in our valley
Still our universe is mortal and cloudy.
Still it is mortified, deuced, going badly
A forgettable bead sets apart from its rosary.
And the darkness covers the place everyway
How can you find it in this dim destiny?
Never shall we ask this dead conscience of the world.
Never shall we claim that our days are hard.
The destiny shall we take in our shoulder
Never shall we be complainer.
And our ship is ready to sail….
Across the choppy sea, it would sail.
In the Mediterranean, again it will sail.
And all those tyrants will be going to hell.