Are we Human?

A beautiful spoken word (video), by the Australian poet Kamal Saleh. (Inserted at the bottom.)

Below is a little something I wrote after watching the video.

We see death and destruction yet some how feel no pain, we see the blood drop from their veins, the young reared on meat not fit for consumption. Destruction of their lives, the cries proclaim the streets by days and nights, echoing like a call to prayer, Allahu Akbar, (God is great), Allahu Akbar but no one is there. To busy stuck to the screen, designer clothes and magazines, this is where we throw our wealth, in perfect health we lay, watch the Syrians pay, pay a price to be free, something that comes natural to you and me. Are we really Human? That we close our eyes, ears, hearts and mind to such agony. Are we really human? That we chase and care for objects rather than people? Are we really Human? We shed tears for cracked screens but close our eyes to cracked skulls and Dreams.

Enough of my dribble, below is the video it begs the question, that are we really human? Worth a watch!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=US4UgopcwM0

Advertisements

Loose

20131016-120314 PM.jpg

Let your soul loose,

Let it wonder,

Let it be lost in the remembrance of your Creater.

For to be lost, is to be found in his presence.

– By Ali Ilyas

Roses are Red, Sugar is Sweet.

rose

They say roses are red,

they say violets are blue.

But something tells me they just don’t know the truth.

The truth about the life that we abuse,

the truth about the life that we choose.

We are institutionally educated to an extent that we become

uneducated.

They say sugar is sweet,

but it makes you obese.

A disease.

Fatty reserves of sweet words, makes you blind

to the universe.

As your perception is nothing,

but a perception of your own perception.

By Ali Ilyas

OFFICE DESK ][ Spoken Words (Written Version)

A sunset and the silhouettes of palm trees. Th...

OFFICE DESK

Sitting here, at the office desk longing to be free, starring at the map and over analysing what I’d like to see, where I’d like to be.

Running down past palm trees, the sun kissing me as my hands caress the sand trickling back to the beach, as it longs to be absorbed back into the earth.

How I long to be absorbed back into the earth, to be a part of its majestic beauty, free to roam in the wind.

Sinless, the devils whispers no longer influence me. I no longer have an ear, as I no longer need to hear the words that try to influence me, as I am free.

I’m deaf, so the people won’t lie to me, I’m blind but can still see the freedom of a beautiful destiny.

Where the heats not to hot, and the breeze not to cold, where I can grow old…..within the depths of a dessert so wise so humble.

Awakening to a rumble of papers, and telephone calls. Still sat at the desk a mental trap created for you and me, whilst the rich and the ‘go getters’ grasp our destiny.

A destiny to be free, to roam the earth that was created for you and me.

But we are stuck in a concrete wall, so the vision of palm trees can’t be seen.

Forced instead to a desk, and told that this will help us make a nice comfortable bed.

Instead, we are just stuck in a cycle, whilst our destinies spiral.

I guess God only helps those who help themselves.

So unless we grasp what we want, what we need, what truly makes us happy.

We will be stuck at an office desk still longing to be free, starring at the map and over analysing what we’d like to see and where we’d like to be.

By Ali Ilyas

The Confounded Heart [Poem]

Loves Lost

Confounded Heart

My heart hurts like hell.

But it feels like i’m stuck in a well.

Walls all around caving in.

Water gushing up rising.

Soaking my body.

Choking my throat.

Such a strong grip unable to get loose.

Unable to choose, which way should one leave this world full of abuse.

Which method to use.

One destined by God All Mighty, or a diversion from a servant of a cheating Soul. Only God can make you whole.

In this world his grip seems to be diminishing, reminiscing on the times when everything was so innocent.

Peoples words may stain the soul, leave wounds so deep, that every tear shed on Earth, every word  spilled, can not fill, these wounds so deep.

Every good deed, every child birth, every miracle, every answered prayer does not make it fair, to bare these wounds so deep.

As we weep, walking around like misguided sheep, can we really conceive happiness with our following feet, puppets of this savagery trying to live lavishly compromising our humanity.

By Ali Ilyas