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Fulan: In the Palace of Papers

Palace of Paper

 

44:18 ?/?/?

Por Mi Amor

In the Palace of Papers a 1’000 words are written, where they go are known to none. Least of all to those who write them. Those spying, prying eyes, ignorant of the eloquence they hope to understand are in their ever blissless blunderings imprisoned, while they, themselves hope to be like that which they have “imprisoned”.

Yet words are born in the captivity of minds and are bound and confined by the limitations of text and tongues incapable of freeing them; feelings — how can such things felt, be given form in the arc and curve of confining, contrived script when they were birthed in the vastless chambers of dreams and the void of hearts hewn and honed on Haqq.

So letters are written, and letters asking for letters are written, and upon the broken backs of tongue-twisted squash are they conveyed to courts where kings are at the beck of jesters on usurped thrones, and the lyres are played, plucked by the teeth of crooked minstrels.

So inept ignorant eyes, pry and pry awaiting a day when banners are affixed and ears are gifted for that which they heard. And words scribed, while much goes unsaid and deeds are earned with a pen mightier than any sword for plundering that worth more than gold…

 
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Posted by on May 20, 2013 in Habsiyya, Poems by Fulan

 

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Voyage du Retour

Il commence sans freins,
Se termine par une capture sans fins,
ce voyage.

Allongé dans ma cellule les yeux ouverts,
avec une joie et des sourires feints,
Je vois ma liberté consumée, mon heure venue -
Les larmes font déborder le vase de ma peine;
Ma maison est une cage aux barreaux d’acier
où le faux devient vrai, où les rêves sont brisés,
les espoirs tabassés,
où d’un nouveau statut on se voit gratifié!

L’ironie de tout ça – la détention et le reste:
Etre si petit et se tenir si haut.
Des années de larmes, des journées de labeur,
il ne reste que la peur, au bon plaisir des tyrans.
Une ordination qui expirera sûrement
sans tarder.
Mais en attendant, cette farce on doit l’endurer
seul.

Maintenant que l’on a bien appris sa leçon:
Que “la patience est une vertu”
Et que la vertu est forgée de fer,
Alors la poésie est mise en mouvement
(peut-être même sera-t-elle appréciée).

Encore et encore sur le papier j’écris,
Sachant quoi mais jamais quand -
là où les rêves commencent et les cauchemars
s’achèvent -
Je rentrerai chez moi auprès de ceux que j’aime.

-Moazzam Begg, Former Guantanamo Detainee

Read this poem in English

 
 

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Homeward Bound

Begins this journey without reins,
Ends in capture without aims;
Now lying in the cell awake,
with merriment and smiles all fake:

Freedom is spent, time is up
Tears have rent my sorrow’s cup;
Home is a cage, and cage is steel,
Thus manifest reality’s unreal.

Dreams are shattered, hopes are battered,
Yet with new status one is flattered!
The irony of it – detention and all;
Be so small, stand so tall.

Years of tears and days of toil
Are now but fears and tyrant’s spoil;
Ordainment has surely come to pass,
But endure alone one must this farce.

Now ‘patience is virtue’ taught,
And virtue is of iron wrought;
So poetry is in motion set
(perhaps, with appreciation met)

Still the papers do I pen,
Knowing what, but never when
As dreams begin, and nightmares end
I’m homeward bound to beloved tend.

-Moazzam Begg, Former Guantanamo Detainee

Lisez ce poème en français

 
 

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Fulan: What Days Have Passed

What Days Have Passed

44:10 ?/?/?

Habibti…

What days have passed when pen and paper were pined for. Days when volumes were scribed upon the walls of a fractured mind. Where shadow and light were one, and fancy and phantasms roamed the halls of a maddening maze, side by side and stride by stride with fact and fading reality.

What days have passed when hands rent hearts in want and desire, pacifying pain in the dreams of what were and could be.

What days have passed when sleep and wakefulness were known only in lexicons, and the borders of dreams were dissolved in the deluge of denial and dementia.

What days have passed when hands touched and eyes found faces, if even their own.

What days are yet to come when thoughts are given leave to be born and life be lived and scattered screaming scrawlings no longer are escape from one’s self but sojourn to one’s soul…

 
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Posted by on May 13, 2013 in Habsiyya, Poems by Fulan

 

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Zakaria Amara: A Little Muslim from Palestine

I’ll always be a contender

Yes, I know
my bones are very tender

And by Allah,
you won’t see me surrender

Look at my eyes?
You’ll see no butterflies

My home is filled with cries…
due to all the lost lives

But I swear by Allah,
I’ll never compromise

I’ll still throw the stones
even with my broken bones

Why can’t I hear from you,
don’t you have any phones?

Yeah I forgot,
your’e not on the chase,

Try it out and
put your self in my place

Soon I’ll return to my Lord,
the One that deserves every grace

Oh, you don’t have to worry
’cause of me you’ll find no trace

It really is too late,
why did you wait?

You could have sent me
at least one dinner plate

I guess it is my fate

And La Ilaha Illa Allah
is my mate.

-Zakaria Amara, Canada

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems by Zakaria Amara

 

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Babar Ahmad: One Day

One day…

The sun will shine again.
The flowers will blossom again.
The birds will sing again.

One day…

The rain will fall again.
The rivers will flow again.
The gardens will be green again.

One day…

The lips will smile.
The tears will dry.
The prayers will be answered.

One day…

The shackles will break.
The darkness will end.
The doors will open…

and justice will prevail

-Babar Ahmad, HMP Long Lartin
2012

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems by Babar Ahmad

 

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Yassin Aref: To the Children of Palestine



Palestinian and Kurdish children need our love and care.
We should always talk and write about them
and about children everywhere.

They must never be the victims of our actions.

Oh children of Palestine,
to whom do you call?
Your friends in the West are sleeping,
your brothers in the East are dead!

Between Gaza and Ramallah
between most Arab countries
between blood brothers
there is continuous war
cold and hot
indicative of the untruth of our motto,
“the unity of the Arab nation”!

We have put our people under siege to die
we abandoned the truth and history
we gave up entirely on the cause
we have come to speak with the tongues of others
we blame and accuse the victims
we accuse the children of Gaza of terrorism
we permitted their blood to be spilled by invaders
we left them to the mercy of
smart bombs, white phosphorus
and Apache helicopters!

Oh children of Palestine,
due to you is my greeting of respect and honor
You die only once with dignity
while we die every day––rather every minute––
consumed in the flames of humiliation and disgrace!

Where are the Muslim leaders?
They must be coming
but not to aid their children
rather they are coming to the Western capitals
to congratulate the conjurer
and to declare their own innocence
from their peoples’ demonstrations!

Oh children of Gaza, your severed limbs in the streets
and your blood in the alleys
are testimony to the truthfulness of
the callers for democracy
You will prove the success of their plan
for the new Middle East:
to spread peace
and establish the Palestinian state!

-Yassin Aref, 2009
(Contribute to supporting Imam Yassin’s Family)

Yassin Muhiddin Aref #12778-052
USP Marion
U.S. Penitentiary
PO Box 1000
Marion, IL 62959
USA
 
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Posted by on November 7, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems By Yassin Aref

 

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Babar Ahmad: The Promised Land

Wave after wave batters me,
With brine, dark and cold,
But I will get through this stormy sea,
So my story will be told.
Fate tastes bitter on my lips
My will is sapped, but not yet dead
I breathe life in painful sips
For destiny weighs heavier than lead.

From time to time a boat appears,
That some day I will board,
Even if it be a few more years,
For the Pleasure of my Lord.
At the rising sun the night will clear
Its rays will shimmer on the sand.
So I will face my every fear
Until I reach the Promised Land.

- Babar Ahmad, August 2012
HMP Long Lartin

Find out more how to help Babar see his family.

 
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Posted by on October 11, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems by Babar Ahmad

 

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Babar Ahmad: As Long as You are Not Angry with Me |(إن لم تكن غاضباً عني فلا أبالي)|

As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For me is the model of Musab bin Umayr
The best dressed man in the city
But that was for him a state of pity
Until there came to him the Message
All did he leave of his privilege
For the sake of Allah and His Beloved

As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For I think of Bilal when his chest was bare
On the burning sand did they make him lie
Until he thought he was going to die
They crushed him with rocks in the blazing sun
And begged him to reject the Almighty One
But never did he give in to the wicked

As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
I remember Khabbaab when they pulled his hair
In the blacksmiths of his evil mistress
With burning rods did she cause him distress
She twisted his neck and burnt his skin
Until his fat dripped into a tin
But he remained firm to his belief as long as he lived

As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
For I picture Khubaib when he was there
Tied and bound to an immovable tree
With no chance of him being free
Their spears and arrows did they fling
Yet grapes to him did his Lord bring
Until his noble soul was lifted

As long as You are not angry with me then I do not care
I think of Yasir, Sumaiyah and their heir
Even when placed on sizzling ember
None but their Lord did they remember
Patience you all when paying this price
Indeed your abode is Paradise
As a reward for all that you did.

As long as You are not angry with me, then I do not care
My example is Your Beloved when struck from the rear
By the sticks and stones of Taif’s crowd
Yet he did cry in a voice so loud:
O Lord! Forgive my people for they do not know,”
And even though I am feeling so low…
As long as You are not angry with me, then I do not care.

- Babar Ahmad, HMP Woodhill
August 19, 2004

 
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Posted by on October 9, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems by Babar Ahmad

 

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Adel Abdul Bary: High Security Graves

Have you visited the graves of the living?
In Belmarsh there are four such blocks.
In every block there are twelve graves,
Made from steel and coated with concrete.
If you wish, call them coffins. They call them ‘cells’.

The guard has a heart of stone.
He knows neither mercy nor pity.
He doesn’t believe in any religion.
He only knows one colour,
And he scorns all the other colours.
That is why he becomes the anti-racism officer.

As for us, the inhabitants of the graves, we have become decapitated.
We must always hail, ‘Long live the queen!’
‘Long live freedom!’
‘Long live lies and deception!’
In fact
Long live human rights.

-Adel Abdul Bary, (translated from Arabic)
HMP Long Lartin, June 2008 

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2012 in Habsiyya, Poems by Adel Abdul Bary

 

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