Poems in English
Poems in English is a site where you'll find some excellent poems or poetry in English. Scroll down to enjoy Modern English poetry.
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Illegitimate Children of Faith
by Shahinur Islam
As far as I remember,
His tired hands were left
with a hell-plastered fireball,
when the creating clay had slipped
through His fingers like an eel.
I swear I didn’t do any wrong.
I was born by God’s mistake,
so I see right after birth--
we are all the illegitimate children of faith
clawing at the cheeks of civilization,
drawing tattoos of violence
all the way down its thighs,
celebrating the killing festivals
by the shameless oath,
spraying over the harvest land
with helpless tears,
piling up the porches of mornings
with the cut off afternoon heads
way before we reach the twilights of pilgrimage .
As we had no pre-determined greatest goals,
we have made ourselves goals,
pounding temples, mosques, churches and pagodas
also homesteads— the bigger asylums.
We have taken pride
in pulverizing the sleeping rooms of love,
in making blood flows of nightmares
under the pretext of mere faithlessness.
As far as I remember,
His tired hands were left
with a hell-plastered fireball,
when the creating clay had slipped
through His fingers like an eel.
I swear I didn’t do any wrong.
I was born by God’s mistake,
so I see right after birth--
we are all the illegitimate children of faith
clawing at the cheeks of civilization,
drawing tattoos of violence
all the way down its thighs,
celebrating the killing festivals
by the shameless oath,
spraying over the harvest land
with helpless tears,
piling up the porches of mornings
with the cut off afternoon heads
way before we reach the twilights of pilgrimage .
As we had no pre-determined greatest goals,
we have made ourselves goals,
pounding temples, mosques, churches and pagodas
also homesteads— the bigger asylums.
We have taken pride
in pulverizing the sleeping rooms of love,
in making blood flows of nightmares
under the pretext of mere faithlessness.
Therefore Now
by Shahinur Islam
Half of a twilight cloud growing gray in memory of yore still rumbles in the ribs centre, the horizon girl of long hair diving in the Humber River. Then I see dreams within dreams with the engrossment of the Cheewhat Giant as if a saint mused over the mountain were watching the universe on his fingertips. Therefore now the dreams close the eyes to see more dreams; the evening lies on a still stone all the way, the heart-bay mirroring the resounding movement of a shadow that flutters in the subconscious like a bird and tucks cries in the feathers, yet glimmers in the wings. Read More... |