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Daily Selected Poems: Mozibul H Moni

Mozibul H Moni   |   Tuesday, 30 November 2021 | Print

Daily Selected Poems: Mozibul H Moni

Mozibul H Moni

Garden of Serenity


Do you know what?
Peace looks for something like affinity.
But why? I don’t know. Do you know?
Peace is evident in feelings with different façades.
Shaikh Saadi yearned in his Gulistan.

‘We’ll make this earth a garden of peace!’
And then we passed seven centuries,
But still, we yearn, yearn peace.
We are hunger for Peace, Peace athirst.

Tolstoy finds spiritual peace in his War and Peace-,
After Spiritual suffering and war.
We reckon peace in individuals, in society,
We regard peace in our country, in our planet.

Where are the ultimate dwellings of peace?
Peace wanders in numerous spots.
Peace gets on with entities or collectives.
Peace gets on with lands or spaces.

Some blame socialism,
Where people chained with strict rules,
Where peace scaled in mass!
Some blame capitalism,
Where people are too self-centred.
Where peace in choked!

Peace is a feeling-
You have discovered that.
You’re, and you’re-
Who is the patron of peace?



Our cohesive trust

We have a bunch of sticks for thousands of years,
We care of it with joy and tears.
We sowed the seeds of concord with endless love
We pot them, smell them and keep them above.
We planted assorted blossom in our harmonic orchard
We silt them, guard them and keep them hard.
What the earth are we witnessing day by day?
We are not the species of animal of prey.
We are not recalling the history of creation,
That made us noble creatures of God with admiration.
We are not recalling the history of creation,
That whole mankind is a family with a noble notion.
We are not recalling the history of creation,
That made us promised to blemish the splitter satan.
Whoever you are; don’t come up to scratch,
Whoever you are; don’t reach out our stress.
We can’t let you rupture our tablets of shrines,
We can’t let you fade our communal signs.
We can’t let you garbage our glorious past,




Who broke my toys, my mum’s ‘Dabka-hula’?
Who ruined my Eden, my colourful peninsula?
Who fades out my ancestral flicker? So I become a volatile asylum seeker.
The land I was born in to having breathe,
A trauma has thrust me;
Threw me into frith
I was playing ‘Soran’ with pals,
The lanyard enveloped us-
Before the thunder-falls.
Then we’re apart from all ties,
Bloodcurdling drove away from the peaceful flies.
I’m running away from borders to borders,
Like the flock of sheep moving to strange orders.
What’s driving us?
What’s our destination?
No one has the chart or provision.
The monsters fouled my unblemished air,
My sunny Jazira turned into frail and brier.
Now I am travelling under different skies,
With an uncertain living and endless cries.
My mum’s cradle was my world, my pride,
It’s my witty means of seeking and hide.
I’m a child of the earth with right to live,
Who is pushing me to the state of Bereave?
My asylum only to God! Who created me,
There is a courtyard waiting for me and thee.


Copywright@Mozibul H Moni

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Posted 11:00 am | Tuesday, 30 November 2021 |

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