Wednesday, 2 May 2018

million fingers (reworked)

Million Fingers

Snow of course can offer a slight,

To one who looks heavenly, 

To the white sky.  

Tobogganing in his minds eye. 

Whilst the flakes drift on

But not settle at all 

The worst of them are those that come at night. 

But by the morning’s rain 

Only disappointments remain. 

That deep desire to see all four climes

Without venturing to those mountain heights 

Nor straying North of Watford’s line. 

And to not want to be bypassed

By the year’s savagery 

Let it take its toll

To feel that sting

The icy spray 

The tingling growing numbness

And to be in the middle 

Of a snowball fight. 

To get into them gripes.  

That want to grind us all to a halt

Our old country that

Immortalised the white yule. 

A Dickensian time of happy poverty 

Where now our cars sputter 

And struggle to climb.


When now our newspapers headline,

The frozen homeless,

Our elderly neighbours friendless. 

Whilst the snow drifts ever onwards 

blanching all our misdemeanours 

With a cheery hey ho. 

That will be the death

Of those that we do not know. 

Thursday, 29 March 2018

whirring tides of stars

Whirring tides of stars 

Matchless beauty
Flames afire

From afar
Seemingly calm 

Light my way
To the exceptional realm

Let me pass
Through sea and air, smoke 

Unfurled and skyward palms
Symbols of non-resistance 

Of my fate, unknown 

Based on the faith I have
Of ONE that is Greater

He sent him as a Messenger 


Tuesday, 27 March 2018

savage rap ster

Savage Rap Ster

Don’t get me wrong I’m not ashamed 
To say what I think
And it’s no game 

To be called a coot
By my brothers behind bars
Mentally stricken 

Disease ridden 
Infected with racism 
How they must hate their reflection

Uncle Tomfoolery
It’s not cool
To curse your brother 

And hate your uncle 
And God knows what you do to your sisters 
How white America tainted you. 

How you crawl behind bars
They not laughing with you 
When you disdain your own 

They laughing at yer
You fool. 

Thursday, 8 February 2018

Gross Injustice

After today's guardians exposé on the black ops detention centre I penned this. 

"When you hear of gross injustice. 
Does your heart bleed,
Does that feed the cycle of revenge. 

Or does your religion dictate,
Or your ethics demand,
That you cannot remonstrate. 

That from every heart that bleeds,
That demands it's needs,
A monster may be born. 

That your heart should be above it all. 
In order to be civil. 
In order to keep peace. 

But greater still is he,
Who reminds of God's mercies. 
Bringing solace to bleeding hearts. 

To those in need. 
And with peace in his heart,
Demands justice.

Leaving no rock unturned. 
In meting out that which was not met before. 
Perchance he might right injustices wrongs.

Bringing solace to those whose hearts bled before.
And in that struggle,
Whether living, by it,

Or dying, by it. 
In God's eyes he would live forever
And more.”

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

Nation of Ghifar

Nation of Ghifar. 

Our celebrated hero,
May Allah t’ala bless him
Once could not stand that people be free Through the declaration of faith

And so he asked the Messenger 
And thrice he (saw) replied
With the last a humorous chide. 

And when the blessed one left us,
And Abu Dharr (ra) sought to impose 
His understanding of charity and frugality 
The companions had him banished 

And so befell the words of the Messenger
That he would be left alone. 
For the obligations were set 
A trust to be kept 

So that we might be free
At not slaves to a false religiosity. 
How my heart bleeds 
That these people have stolen 

A religion made pure 
Flowing as a river 
They damned with their fiqh
And every now and then cull silver fish. 

So that the people believe 
That orthodoxy is conservatism 
It never was 
For this revolutionary religion 
Will burst their every bank. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 30th January 2018

Monday, 29 January 2018

impressionist Journey

Impressionist Journey

The brush strokes of my life lie thinly veiled

Beneath the glossy veneer, of this charming smile.

Endearing me to a city that I do not know

Or is it the foreign dollar that, unbeknownst to me, opens those doors. 

Where they say three climes, in a day, can come and go. 

Where every rain chases away laughter

And every drain, gurgles with pending disaster. 

They say that these rouge bonhomies have sponge brain

Not a communicable disease, but a talent no less,

Who yap with accents that can make even cockneys cringe.

A true impressionist would use delicate colour 

But in this drear city what better postcard can I offer

That captures this venture from the new world to the old. 


Shafeesthoughts 28th January 2018


A London Cabbie’s passengers story. 

Thursday, 25 January 2018

Scorched Remains

Scorched remains 

If the sky had eyes, it would bleed salt tears
If the earth had mouth, it would tell inconsolable truths 
If the sea had it’s way, what could we offer by way of sacrifice?

Do we deserve to pollute the conscience of the World with our disharmonies? 
Do we allow these warmongers to innovate still new ways to decimate?
Who profits from war, but the military industry 

Are our lives, and our children’s, prey to their every product cycle?
Who justifies death in the millions 
How can you give a name to a product that burns people’s skin off
Torture to the death is not something that should be for sale. 

And they justify to themselves by their want for dominion 
But it is not theirs 
For no land, no sea, nor sky will bear them 
And theirs will be an end much worse than that they sold to men. 

(C) Shafeesthoughts 25th Jan 2018
😢 Feeling raw.