Poems collected by Azhar

That’s cool :P but don't capitalize him. Makes it look like your talking about HIM (His Infernal Majesty), they are a music group that uses a stylized pentagram (they call a heartagram) for their symbol. >.<

it is so true and great poem mashallah

was that two poems or one?

neways, sadly there's a lot of muslims who fit into that catagory. I was telling someone something islamic once and the response I got was... "plz don't tell me, cuz I'd be sinning if I knew and didn't do it." :X

May Allah give us all hidayah and make us better muslims. Ameeeen.

salaam

its just the 1poem sister

Islam forbids looking at a member of the opposite sex with desire; for the eye is the key to the feelings, and the look is the messenger of desire, carrying the message of fornication or adultery.
A poet of ancient times has said:
'All affairs begin with the sight,
the raging fire a spark can ignite'

While a contemporary poet declares:
'A look, then a smile,
then a nod of the head,
then a talk, then a promise,
then the warmth of the bed'

I look around me
It is not pleasing to see

Brother and sisters casually freemixing
Without a care for their sinning

Lowly nafs they are obeying
Not thinking about their inevitable ending

Please step back and spare a thought
About the day when the Almighty will ask what have you brought?

Oh my fellow Muslim amend your way
Before you become the devils prey

Note: The above poem was written as a result of witnessing on a frequent basis the freemixing of our muslim sisters & brothers at college and university.

Treading miles afar from home,
spanning the delicate hours of life,
aspiring to behold the awaited glory
As I walk past a narrow alley,
the sun of Medina brims over,
casting upon an exhausted traveller,
its motherly warmth.
A wry smile draws on my wrinkled face,
the weary face, bearing signs of pain.
Another step closer to the pathway,
and a whisper confining a secret ...
" Oh Jabir, you will have a long life,
although your eyes shall lose their sight,
yet, you would have the honor of meeting my fifth descendant. "
With this the voice grew less dominant,
exposing the suppression of tears.
" Jabir, when you meet him, give my salaams to him".
Silence dawns.

Jabir Ibn Abdullah Al-Ansari,
positioned cosily by the road-side,
with hair strands so white and pure,
and eyes silently profound.
Jabir waited devoutly,
longing to hear the foot-steps of a man most dear to him.
The fruits of his patience grew aloft,
the day came when a young man,
walked along the path,
claded modestly with the sweet perfume of musk.
Jabir stood up, and greeted the young prince,
and asked his good name.
" Muhammed " he replied softly.
Jabir then asked, "Whose son?"
" Ali ibn Al-Hussain " he replied.
Jabir had now recognised the man.
Like a father embracing his lost child,
Jabir held Al-Muhammed in his arms.
With tears blurring his long lost vision,
he confined his secret to the young man,
" Your Grandfather, Rasul'Allah has sent you his salaams "
The sun shined in admiration,
as the scene gently evanished from sight.

Baqir - the one who splits open knowledge,
the title that the young man bore.
I advanced in my quest for quenching my consuming thirst,
thirst, which burned the fuel of love in my heart.
Imam Muhammed Al-Baqir,
pleasantly spreading the grains of knowledge,
to the famished birds of Arabia.
I walk past his warm house,
and kissed his door, as I left the vicinity.
This scene mixes with the former,
as I walk well in advance to it.

A new path,
presenting Hisham, the umayyad caliph of his time.
As he digs into his throne,
hatred flames ferociously in his eye,
stinging every muscle of my body.
Poison - a legacy of the umayyads,
a soundless weapon they all rested their hands on.
Upon Hisham's orders,
Imam Baqir's saddle were laminated deeply with the poison.
When the Imam mounted on his horse,
the strength of the poison, so severely able,
to bring an end to the fifth shining star's life.
Like the serpent's venom,
it spread throughout the Imam's body.
The day came, when Imam no longer replied to his son's cries.
The day, when Imam Baqir departed this world,
and joined his uncle Imam Hasan Al-Mujtaba,
and father, Imam Zainul Abideen in the forsaken soil of Baqi.
The scene dissolves as I cast my eyes at the green dome,
with the whisper echoing in my mind.

The last breaths that the Beloved takes;
Zahra, shall spend the night awake.
How can sleep drift onto her eyes ?
when blood flows from the seven skies.
Why does the night seem so long ?
why are the birds not singing tonight ?
Why has pain filled Zahra's heart ?
why does the moon seem to cry ?
Tonight, is the last night of living for the Prophet;
Tonight, is the beginning for the sufferings of Ali.
Tonight the sky consoles Zahra,
Tonight Kadija greets her Muhammad.

It came all of a sudden, a brilliant flash of light
Breaking more than the silence that had swept over the night.

The roar echoed in the distance and carried on for miles
Witnessed by to many to leave room for denials.

Then came the sound of screams and moans that lingered in the air
The stillness had been broken, with destruction and despair.

It's the innocents that do suffer; they're the ones who'll grieve
They are left with nothing, but bitter hatred for the thief.

The thief has stolen away their loved ones, does he not realise?
For him, a medal of honour, his shiny, well earned prize!

Why has it come to this and who is paying the price?
Should we let those crooked men continue playing the dice?

Sadly, a few are so angry, after having lost all
Their mental state compels them to see the crooked men fall.

The end is inevitable, but what a way to end
Greed, hatred and enmity - what foul a trend!

Sister No Its A Poem I Read And Found Interestin

sister i love poems i read them all the on the net books wateva i like i put them on here