First, there will be a whisper – An echo that ripples through the air Unnoticed, undetected, invisible. But with time, with each passing day, its voice will grow – Oh, will it grow: Stronger, powerful, benevolent And when it speaks, everything will still and listen and gaze upon its ultimate beauty For it will be beautiful – A majestic judgement to behold. It will come. It will come for the walls of oppression For tyranny’s every immorality It will come for the strengths of occupation And all the terrors of humanity Heed my call For it will come. They will silence you Cut you Kill you Go to the ends of the earth to stop you But remember, It will come. But until it comes, gather the warriors To wage the worthy war Wielding words We will silence them Cut them Stop them. And when the final trumpet blows We will know – And the sinners will know That it has come. Hear my call: Justice will come – and will always prevail.
Tag: poem
Soho Square
The birds were the first to start the song, filling the air with their sweet soprano. Then came the cars, screeching in staccato and all the people in different pitch and tempo The men and women in their sharp suits enjoying the sun and their 3-pound salads, whilst the workmen in hard hats and sleeves of tats Rested on the green, dining on sushi. Lunch in London was a beautiful matter; people local, foreign and far, so different and akin as they stood frozen in motion at that moment in time. And slowly over time, the song strengthened in sound, pulling all into its lively tune – ‘Hi there, would you like a game of table tennis?’ ‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’ For this is the song of London life rising above all odds and strife. Stronger than before and better than ever, so when I look from my keyboard, I smile at what I see. For this is the heart of London, and as good as it’ll ever be.
The Unveiling
Reality has come a’knocking in the cold light of day and those once painted Saints Are all cast away. The cards have collapsed and the air tastes stale all those who were once hailed are heckled, jeered, jailed So when the light is cast and the shadows flushed out the sinners are seen for what they are; pale, pathetic, pockmarks on society – they have been seen they have been measured and found, completely wanting. Welcome to The Unveiling.
Demons Within
They tell me to open up - to let them in so that they can help. But they won’t understand the pain I push through. The pain I try to forget. They don’t know of the wars I’ve waged, of the demons I battle, of the darkness that threatens to destroy me. They don’t know of the terror I’ve endured, of the despair I feel, nor the innocence I mourn. They don’t see my starless skies, the tremble in my words, the burden on my soul. They tell me to open up - to let them in. But they don’t understand that I can’t - that the horrors I hold to my heart, are mine and mine alone. Mine to suffer. Mine to stand up to. And in time, mine to move on from. Because whatever we go through, makes us stronger. They tell me to let them in so that they can help. But don’t they understand that by just standing by me, they help keep me in the light?
Hafsa Khalil 