SREBRENICA


srebrenixca poem

 

 

Poem: Srebrenica

An old mother
Clasped onto the memory
the cornice in the ground
The unmarked grave
As tears roll down her cheeks
As pain holds her clenched
In her breath
Points out
There is my husband
In that grave
In there, my sons
My daughters
Raped and disappeared
They only
In my heart
Not long ago
The terrible tragedy
Struck us and its genocide
The day I grew old

The world
watched in silence
They whispered
As the guns and bullets
Rattled its peace
They talked and talked
But only action
The death kept coming
In this Srebrenica town
As the war raged
It’s verdict and life ravaged
They watched
In silence

Look at these graves
Srebrenica in silence
As you travel
In your pursuit
For evidence and analysis
The biggest grave
The grand epitaph
Upon these institutions
The beacons of light
Their silence hard to break
I grieve for them too
The institutions of the world
Condemned to their graves
I cry for them too…

Asim Khan

Thanks Aisha Ghazi for bringing out an old painful reminder to what happened not long ago and the total collapse of that responsibility and its burden shown by the world and its institutions and when they realized it was simply too late.

Cleanliness…….


 

Islam, the universal religion has placed such an importance on the concept of cleanliness and its impact within the composition of the society that we must adhere to its message and implement. Islamic civilisation of the past believed and practised this. The civilisation grew unbounded in all four corners of the earth. So it is important that we understand as a nation the importance of this message and introduce in our policies in urban planning and development, keep our homes and roads clean, public buildings should not layered with posters. . In all matters of our belief, and in our day to day living this concept of cleanliness should be of paramount importance.

 

 

 

 

I am Hazara


226861_579463605417135_1808531224_n The paintings The symbol

 

I am Hazara 

Am I killed?
The question
that remains
with me
For years
is it?
of my colour
race or religion
My blood carries
the same composition
Like you,
My murderers

I want to live
With my hopes
And aspirations
Want to live
With my dreams
Then Why
I to die
I am Hazara

Carried I have
this burden
From moments of my birth
Of this persecution
Still here,
ignored and neglected
beaten blue and death
Carried I have the dead
I am Hazara.

in the corridors
of these hospitals
Blood dripping
From her clothes
The smile,
Most beautiful
And her eyes
With questions
Why I to die
I am Hazara

In between
Thousands years
of travel
And our conversations
Of peace
I am Hazara
I am Pakistan

Do not
Just ponder
Or walk away
In slumber
Support me
My brother
My existence
Not an image
Or shrapnel
Thousands years
I am Hazara

I am Hazara
not a coffin
or graveyard
Support me,
I the am the distance
Of the old civilisations
And new
Reach out
Am your brother
I am Hazara
I am you
I am Pakistan

 ASIM KHAN

The Colour Explodes in its Whispers


303289_10150907394450582_1165826634_n

 

The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land,

in its alignment,
the mosaic
of beautiful summers
echoes of the past
in its view,
the rainbow drops
from the old corridors,
where once they travelled
from the old desert
to the mountains
the air
that whistled through the verses,
the place,
wher our heart remains
across the land,
once ours, now gone
the dreamers paradise…

the last remnants still with us
the monuments of wisdom
the tools of expression
there he roams in its valley
cornered and in its shapes,
reflections, and its wonder
of expression and humanity

The colour explodes
in its whispers
in its harmony,
the nature descends,
as the light catches,
the morning dew
with the man,
from different land….

ASIM KHAN

EID POEM


Rewards that arrive,
Upon the arrival of Eid,
As we have gone through
The blessed month and it’s deeds
Forget not, the message
To hep those who are in need
Whatever you can do,
Do something and take a lead
Remember the change is upon us
We will one day be finally freed…

 

In Silence, they Burn- (The Muslims of Rohingya-Myanmar, Burma)


In silence,
We hear,
Our voices,
In silence,
You disappear,
UN and the media
In silence,
We suffer,
Our fates
Wounded together,
In silence,
The world witness

In Myanmar,
The Rohingya Muslims,
In silence,
We cover,
Our wounded and dead
Only to discover,
As the hands that cut
It’s more to come

In silence,
They commit,
The atrocities
In silence,
We observe
Our fasts and fate
Through the shades
 Of the moon

In silence,
We scream
These painful days
As our children are burnt
Our women killed,
Yet you remain,
Indifferent,
The world and its voice,
In silence
Our soul dies

In silence
We have lived,
The Rohingyas,
In Arakan region
Through the years
Of persecution
The discrimination
Systematic and diabolical

In silence
The old history,
Sweeps its carpet
Of what happened,
In Minbya and Mrohaung
As Rakhines killed
The story continues

In silence,
We are no longer
The citizens
The slaves proclaimed
By the state and its apparatus
As our land
Confiscated
And our rights
Denied
The human values
Only in distance,
As we watch
In silence
Towards You

In silence,
We remain,
Our mourning and grief
In silence,
We escape,
From the stench
Scattered
Across our lips
In silence,
We remain,
Our eyes,
The sockets empty
The light gone

In silence,
The World,
As we watch,
The removal of conscience
In silence,
We observe
The death
Of this world
And its institutions
Through the shades
Of the moon….

Ode to Iqbal


The distant stars,
Within your reach,
As the old month of November
Approached in its surrender
As the eyes witnessed
Storms gathered in its pace,
The tumultuous ways of the world,
In confusion and lost direction,
The revival of spirit and intellect
The old paths of glory and heart
Walks with you in the old days,
Old reminders of Cambridge and Heidelberg
Where you once became the king of beggars,
But only the dervish you remained,
These beautiful words that were written
As East became the way for direction
As you travelled from one quarter to another,
As you followed truth in your pursuit
As poetry became alive
Of new forms and its shapes
Through dreams of your existence
As heavens followed its brightest star
Across those landscapes of dust and despair,
Follows in its whispers,
The morning dew of your memory
There lived this man,
The dervish, the poet, the philosopher
Dreamer of an eagle and change…….

KASHKIN