By Bazeed
In the hiding hour of autophagy ghosts hang out all day and talk to us. An archival haunting demanding...
Explore Poems: Islam
Showing 1-20 of 51 poems
- By Sara Abou RashedWhen I die, bury me in the sky— no one is fighting over it. Children are playing soccer with empty bomb...
- By Faisal Mohyuddinare what my son, with a 5-year-old’s sweetness, calls every house of worship, is how I can tell he is...
- By Noor NagaThis is a practical religion there is a prayer at dawn (beginning when it is light enough outside for...
- By Mo H. SaidiI My father was tall, plump, old and cruel. When he was late returning home, we’d joke that he’d been...
- By Mo H. SaidiMother recited the Koran every night. None of us knew what those words meant. She persuaded us to pray...
- By Dujie Tahat[adhan] messages Facebook me sends uncle My does translator Facebook .understand barely I .ح with starts...
- By Nabina DasDear mother and father and old and young people of my home. Dear pets and weeds and flowers and footfalls...
- By Momtaza MehriIn praise of all that is honest, call upon the acrylic tips and make a minaret out of a middle finger...
- By AdonisI amuse myself with my country. I glimpse its future approaching on the eyelashes of an ostrich, I toy...
- By Edil Hassanit is dark here & still you have al nur at your neck when fajr does not come my body is the color of...
- By Angel Nafismy sister wraps the throw around herself on the small cream loveseat & i know for sure that she is not...
- By Sahar Muradishe was washee i told her you are like your motherland a wilderness needs a belt laid down two white hotel towels...
- By Aria AberEspecially in line for the food bank, my mother radiated grace. Talked a machinery of Principles. Elm...
- By Afshan ShafiAt one time, if my nails had been painted this shade of rose-foam in Kabul they would have rammed out...
- By Momtaza Mehriyou michelangelo’s crouching boy/you d’angelo’s purr/you dead currency/you dead presidents/you a stick...
- By Sheena Raza Faisalmy god wakes up with bed head and sticky fingers, doesn’t want to go into work today my god forgets ...
- By Anjuli Fatima Raza KolbIn a seaside desert port that wasn’t yet a city our grandfather built a wide house and called it gulistan...
- By Kaveh Akbarno one ever brings up the wages of virtue the cost of avoiding that which you were built to do some ...
