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Miryam Nahar

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Warwickshire, England, UK

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A New Song (from The Song Of Songs)

by

Miryam Nahar


I stood at the window ,crying.
But no-one came.
I never saw you rushing.

I stood at the window,waiting.
The birds will come at least.
I never saw you rushing,
Promising me a feast.

I stood at the window,alone.
The birds never came.
No-one ever came.
I never saw you standing ,gazing.

I stood at the window, alone.
Every day, all alone.
I never saw you peering.
I never heard you saying,
''Arise My love
My beautiful one, and come with me.''

I stood at the window ,cold.
But now, I see you rushing,
You ,Jesus, so bold.
Now I see you peering.

Now we are one.
The winter is past,
And the rains are over and gone.

Dance with me , my Love ,my Life,
Dance with me The Song Of Life,
The Song Of Love,
In the dawn of each and every moment.


My Mother

by

Miryam Nahar


Once the rose among the thorns,
You are now the 'Rose beyond the wall'my Mother,
Where now you are walking so tall,
Wise and confident ,
Instead of head bowed down ,so small.

I remember you my Mother,
electric shock treatment,cigarettes and all.
The fire poker which beat you so small.
The shoes that battered and bruised your head to your soul.

The hours, the days, the years that were stolen
By all that destroyed
Your love ,your life, your dance,your smile,
The bride in you, the dancer in you ,
The woman in you,the mother in you,
My Mother.

Joy, once robbed, has now been gained,
Where now you walk so tall,
My Mother.

Comfort My People

by

Miryam Nahar

When you hung there my Jesus,
Did you take all my pain?
Did you take all that terror that would torment my life,
The shoes, the fire poker, the knife.

These shoes that proclaim the Gospel of Peace
Is that what you gave me for my release.
That rod of iron and that knife
Is that why they tore your flesh and not mine.

When you hung there my Jesus
Did you take all my pain?
Did you take all my loss, and call it gain.

Did you take the names they called me,
The Harijan, Untouchable, Unclean, Churi, Outcaste.
And did you not call me Beautiful,your Royal Princess,
Since you I dared to touch.
And did you not enfold my orphaned heart,
And fill it with your caress.

And those demons that wanted my skin all white,
Did you tell them you treat me like gold,
Gold so refined I'm whiter than white,
Not Unclean, but Holy, Pure, and shining in the sunshine
of your Light.

And those demons that stripped me naked,
Did they hear you too.

And what of those who scoffed and mocked
The woman,the bride that I am and wanted to be.
Did you remind them
I will arise with you, your Love, your Fair one
And belong to you.

Safe Oil

by

Miryam Nahar

Crown came from India, passing through Malaya,
Dollar came from Jamaica.
Together with the 1960's our story had just began,
The years when everyone sang.

Shipped to England, Papa ji's face so worried, carrying me down on his side,
Umma ji feeling ill, afraid of what they would find
And to whom could she confide.

Corn on the cobs left glowing in the market sun
I've been placed in a fridge, rats screaching and crawling
Not much fun.

One said 'nigger' the other said 'wag',
They each said 'Go back home to where you came from.'

Did you forget you asked me here first?
I worked in the factories
And fell in death oil,
I worked in the factories
And lost my eye in the toil.

Hey, a long time ago, so they all say
I was some jewel, some metal money
Which you brought back from India, from Africa, and from many.
But now I'm a human without a penny.
Can't I mean more than that metal money?

Abandoned before the television that gave me the blues
Famine isn't so hard here,
And what's really due, we won't ever get.
Here we can keep our heads,
At least that is what they said,
But do you really want to bet?

At first Crown cried, and Dollar hit back
But then came Tree, from Eden.
We finally got a life.

Don't hack at me,
At my roots do't hack.
If you hack at my roots
Do you really expect to get fruit.

So you collect me some money,
You collect me some clothes,
You collect me toys
But you never come home,
And are you ever really sorry?

My Bible says that Jesus brought me,
From every tribe, from every language and people and nation
He bought me.
So knock on my door, I will let you in
And from this new kingdom of mine
Your hands with pearls I will fill.
But is this giving my pearls to the swine?

How I long to go home, my hearts desire,
Then would so many work in death oil.
My blood could boil,
But I want some sealing , safe oil.

And why would anyone ever measure
My problems as too small,
And my agonies ever anyone bore,
Since your compassion, my dear Jesus,you never measure
And your mercy never ending, new each morning, for evermore.

So why are you so bitter that my people gave you demons
You didn't need to take them,
Perhaps you didn't have safe oil.

From this world, I haven't any silver, I haven't any gold
I will give you what I have
To this I am sold
I give you my Jesus,
That very safe oil.

Safe Oil (edited version )

by

Miryam Nahar


Crown came from India, passing through Malaya,
Dollar came from Jamaica.
Together with the 1960's our story had just began,
The years when everyone sang.

Shipped to England, Papa ji's face so worried, carrying me down on his
side,
Umma ji feeling ill, afraid of what they would find
And to whom could she confide.

Corn on the cobs left glowing in the market sun
I've been placed in a fridge, rats screaching and crawling
Not much fun.

One said 'nigger' the other said 'wag',
They each said 'Go back home to where you came from.'

Did you forget you asked me here first?
I worked in the factories
And fell in death oil,
I worked in the factories
And lost my eye in the toil.

Hey, a long time ago, so they all say
I was some jewel, some metal money
Which you brought back from India, from Africa, and from many.
But now I'm a human without a penny.
Can't I mean more than that metal money?

Abandoned before the television that gave me the blues
Famine isn't so hard here,
And what's really due, we won't ever get.
Here we can keep our heads,
At least that is what they said,
But do you really want to bet?

At first Crown cried, and Dollar hit back
But then came Tree, from Eden.
We finally got a life.

Don't hack at me,
At my roots don't hack.
If you hack at my roots
Do you really expect to get fruit.

So you collect me some money,
You collect me some clothes,
You collect me toys
But you never come home,
And are you ever really sorry?

My Bible says that Jesus bought me,
>From every tribe, from every language and people and nation
He bought me.
So knock on my door, I will let you in
And from this new kingdom of mine
Your hands with pearls I will fill.
But is this giving my pearls to the swine?

How I long to go home, my hearts desire,
Then would so many work in death oil.
My blood could boil,
But I want some sealing , safe oil.

And why would anyone ever measure
My problems as too small,
And my agonies ever anyone bore,
Since your compassion, my dear Jesus, you never measure
And your mercy never ending, new each morning, for evermore.

So why are you so bitter that my people gave you demons
You didn't need to take them,
Perhaps you didn't have safe oil.

>From this world, I haven't any silver, I haven't any gold
I will give you what I have
To this I am sold
I give you my Jesus,
That very safe oil.

Safe Oil by Miryam Masih Nahar with footnote

by

Miryam Nahar

Crown came from India,
passing through Malaya,
Dollar came from Jamaica.
Together with the 1960's
our story had just began,
The years when everyone sang.

Shipped to England,
Papa ji's face so worried,
carrying me down on his side,
Amma ji feeling ill,
afraid of what they would find
And to whom could she confide.

Corn on the cobs
left glowing in the market sun
I've been placed in a fridge,
rats screeching and crawling
Not much fun.

One said 'nigger'
the other said 'wag',
They each said
'Go back home
to where you came from.'

Did you forget you asked me here first?
I worked in the factories
And fell in death oil,
I worked in the factories
And lost my eye in the toil.

Hey, a long time ago, so they all say
I was some jewel, some metal money
Which you brought back from India,
from Africa, and from many.
But now I'm a human without a penny.
Can't I mean more than that metal money?

Abandoned before the television that gave me the blues
Famine isn't so hard here,
And what's really due, we won't ever get.
Here we can keep our heads,
At least that is what they said,
But do you really want to bet?

At first Crown cried,
and Dollar hit back
But then came Tree,
from Eden.
We finally got a life.

Don't hack at me,
At my roots don't hack.
If you hack at my roots
Do you really expect to get fruit.

So you collect me some money,
You collect me some clothes,
You collect me toys
But you never come home,
And are you ever really sorry?

My Bible says that Jesus bought me,
From every tribe,
from every language and people and nation
He bought me.
So knock on my door,
I will let you in
And from this new kingdom of mine
Your hands with pearls I will fill.
But is this giving my pearls to the swine?

How I long to go home,
my heart's desire,
Then would so many work in death oil.
My blood could boil,
But I want some sealing, safe oil.

And why would anyone ever measure
My problems as too small,
And my agonies ever anyone bore,
Since your compassion, my dear Jesus,
you never measure
And your mercy never ending,
new each morning, for evermore.

So why are you so bitter
that my people gave you demons
You didn't need to take them,
Perhaps you didn't have safe oil.

From this world, I haven't any silver,
I haven't any gold
I will give you what I have
To this I am sold
I give you my Jesus,
That very safe oil.

Footnote by Miryam Masih Nahar ( pen name)

For all who have lost loved ones to 'death oil'.
I would prefer the interpretation of 'death oil' to be left to the reader's own perception as with all of my writing.
The poem 'Safe Oil' is an autobiogrphical portrayal of my experience as an immigrant to England, United Kingdom.
'DEATH OIL' sprang from a memory from childhood of being told of a fellow Indian immigrant who had been killed in an accident in a local factory as a result of falling into hot oil or similar substance. For me, 'death oil' signifies the sacrifices people like my parents made in leaving their ancestral home of India, some of which they will probably never be aware. It also signifies for me, life without Jesus.
When I use the phrase 'death oil ' I have in mind the difficulties the unskilled worker may face in the United Kingdom. I also have in mind the African slave trade, internationally, of former times.


Comfort My People

by

Miryam Nahar


When you hung there my Jesus,
Did you take all my pain?
Did you take all that terror that would torment my life,
The shoes, the fire poker, the knife.

These shoes that proclaim the Gospel of Peace
Is that what you gave me for my release.
That rod of iron and that knife
Is that why they tore your flesh and not mine.

When you hung there my Jesus
Did you take all my pain?
Did you take all my loss, and call it gain.

Did you take the names they called me,
The Harijan, Untouchable, Unclean, Churi, Outcaste.
And did you not call me Beautiful,your Royal Princess,
Since you I dared to touch.
And did you not enfold my orphaned heart,
And fill it with your caress.

And those demons that wanted my skin all white,
Did you tell them you treat me like gold,
Gold so refined I'm whiter than white,
Not Unclean, but Holy, Pure, and shining in the sunshine

of your Light.

And those demons that stripped me naked,
Did they hear you too.

And what of those who scoffed and mocked
The woman,the bride that I am and wanted to be.
Did you remind them
I will arise with you, your Love, your Fair one
And belong to you.

My Mother

by

Miryam Nahar

Once the rose among the thorns,
You are now the 'Rose beyond the wall'my Mother,
Where now you are walking so tall,
Wise and confident,
Instead of head bowed down, so small.

I remember you my Mother,
electric shock treatment,cigarettes and all.
The fire poker which beat you so small.
The shoes that battered and bruised your head to your soul.

The hours, the days, the years that were stolen
By all that destroyed
Your love, your life, your dance, your smile,
The bride in you, the dancer in you ,
The woman in you,the mother in you,
My Mother.

Joy, once robbed, has now been gained,
Where now you walk so tall,
My Mother.

A New Song ( from the Song of Songs)

by

Miryam Nahar

I stood at the window, crying.
But no-one came.
I never saw you rushing.

I stood at the window, waiting.
The birds will come at least.
I never saw you rushing,
Promising me a feast.

I stood at the window, alone.
The birds never came.
No-one ever came.
I never saw you standing, gazing.

I stood at the window, alone.
Every day, all alone.
I never saw you peering.
I never heard you saying,
'Arise My love
My beautiful one, and come with me.'

I stood at the window, cold.
But now, I see you rushing,
You, Jesus, so bold.
Now I see you peering.

Now we are one.
The winter is past,
And the rains are over and gone.

Dance with me, my Love, my Life,
Dance with me The Song Of Life,
The Song Of Love,
In the dawn of each and every moment.

Love Arranged

by

Miryam Nahar


What is this love when not arranged, is guaranteed
When not arranged, only then,
and only then can bleed.
When arranged is Asian, sure to bring strife
And always, always designed to beat his wife.

Adam, it seems they do not see
The husband and father that God made you to be,
Just so perfectly arranged for your beloved Eve.

And Abraham, it seems they do not know
How you arranged the marriage of Isaac your son.
I guess you all listened to God's perfect wisdom
And the seed of love that He did sow.

And who will speak for you, tortured woman
If they keep on insisting it matters only if you are Indian
And call your marriage, Love
A marriage from above
And her marriage, Arranged
and never, never from Heaven.

Love Arranged

by

Miryam Nahar

What is this love when not arranged, is guaranteed
When not arranged, only then,
and only then can bleed.
When arranged is Asian, sure to bring strife
And always, always designed to beat his wife.

Eve, it seems they do not see
The wife and mother that God made you to be,
A marriage God so perfectly arranged
Between you and Adam, your beloved.

And Abraham, it seems they do not know
How you arranged the marriage of Isaac your son.
I guess you all listened to God's perfect wisdom
And the seed of love that He did sow.

And who will speak for you, tortured woman
If they keep on insisting,
it matters only if you are Indian
And call your marriage, Love
A marriage from above
And her marriage, Arranged
and never, never from Heaven.

footnote by Miryam Masih Nahar
Love Arranged : ( This is the final version of Love Arranged, completed on 30th October 2005)

Love Arranged

by

Miryam Nahar

What is this love when not arranged, is guaranteed
When not arranged, only then,
and only then can bleed.
When arranged is Asian, sure to bring strife
And always, always designed to beat his wife.

Eve, it seems they do not see
The wife and mother that God made you to be,
A marriage God so perfectly arranged
Between you and Adam, your beloved.

And Abraham, it seems they do not know
How you arranged the marriage of Isaac your son.
I guess you all listened to God's perfect wisdom
And the seed of love that He did sow.

And who will speak for you, tortured woman
If they keep on insisting,
it matters only if you are Indian
And call your marriage, Love
A marriage from above
And her marriage, Arranged
and never, never from Heaven.

compassion

by

Miryam Nahar


A joy that has journeyed through much lamentation,
A love that gives, and gives,
Not in order to receive
Yet knowing how you need, and need.

You say to keep on asking you
And you promise that I will receive.
There is no demand in your voice,
Harsh though at times it seems.
So I neither do demand
Though I too need, and need.

And yet, what is this passion
That shuns shallow desire,
What is this agony that pain cannot explain,
And such comfort to speak in words this fire.

Each feeling, each emotion that is mine
Embrace my will and yours as they all entwine.
Such comfort to speak in words this fire...
The painting, the poem that is ours.

''Sujata''

by

Miryam Nahar


Sujata, they do not remember you very much,
Though your story would so many hearts touch.
Love opens eyes, it's true, we saw
But now, once again
Closed they remain, and remain.

Pride, too strong to hide, pushes through
The dam of dignity, goodwill and charity,
It's waves lashing out at their hearts of stone.
So may be that is our clue...

Sujata, even your beauty, your love's agony,
the happy ending to your story,
designed to bless,
washes only the surface of the filthy rags,
the filthy rags they still call righteousness.

Who will turn the stones to flesh
And that water into wine?

Is it so hard to guess?

['Sujata' was written after watching
Bimal Roy's film of the same title 'Sujata' (1959)].

She dared to smile

by

Miryam Nahar

The bus driver, he didn't seem to mind
Indian, but didn't mind.
After all, she had thought that she was being kind,
this little girl and her smiling face,
who should not dare to leave any trace.

But the gritted teeth and fiery terror
Bit curses into her innocence so naive
So pure, the demon dared not to have seen;
Demanding that she and her smile were sin unclean,
Deserving only to be beaten in torture and murder.

So smile means shame.
She wouldn't do it again.

What changed little Sakeena, little girl
What changed so that now they tell you,

" Don't ever stop smiling. "

What did you have to do
And whatever happened to you.

What changed little Sakeena,
Your tears to gifts of love for Yeshua,
And your mourning to joy in His dance.
What changed little Sakeena,
The voice that once heard your cry
" Jesus, please, please tell me,
In our garden, you're really alive! "
The voice, which once did silently whisper...
" Sakeena ",

" Miryam ", is today His reply.

Remember, little Miryam,
Father God, He once for your love said

" Thank you ".

So what changed little Miryam?
What did you have to do.

Whatever happened to you....
You found out didn't you....

Smile, means Jesus loves you.

( footnote by Miryam Nahar )

Miryam is the Hebrew spelling for Mary.
Yeshua is Jesus's name in Hebrew.
Reference is made to when Miryam, ( Mary ), in the Bible finds the tomb of Jesus empty.
This poem is, of course, an autobiographical experience of my own.)

Untitled

by

Miryam Nahar


How much greener do my eyes see the fields
More golden the silken evening sky
More treasured the sparrows remembered,
And those which today flutter by...
Finally seeing the smiles
Which for so long to me would not yield.

Once again to see the childlike fascination
Of the cerise coloured horizon,
The wildlife and the parks,
the countryside,
Not as soiled by crime and pollution,
As there in the boroughs of London.

Oh London, London!
What are the thrills in your lights and corruption
The race of traffic and suffocation,
The lifeless faces in your streets
The attacks on the shade of my skin.

So hear the silence,
so golden
Now in the physical,
As well as in the spiritual,
Not always seeking our death and destruction.

After all, the flowers in Heaven
Reach out with Love and Compassion,
Crying out for existence here in their garden,
Ever yearning with patience the great return.

So London, London!
Release to God the children of my youth
To clear their eyes once again to see all truth,
as they win the battle between them and you
Because of the prayers before they were due.

Compassion

by

Miryam Nahar

A joy that has journeyed through much lamentation,
A love that gives, and gives,
Not in order to receive
Yet knowing how you need, and need.

You say to keep on asking you
And you promise that I will receive.
There is no demand in your voice,
Harsh though at times it seems.
So I neither do demand
though I too need and need.

And yet, what is this passion
that shuns shallow desire,
What is this agony that pain cannot explain,
And such comfort to speak in words this fire.

Each feeling, each emotion that is mine
Embraces my will and yours as they all entwine.
Such comfort to speak in words this fire....
The painting, the poem that is ours.

Footnote:
Readers please note,
This is the final and corrected version of my poem 'Compassion'.
The second line of the last verse should read 'embraces' and not 'embrace'.

Let's run together

by

Miryam Nahar


Run little son, right into my arms.
Hold my hand and we will run together.
The Creator, He's waiting, and we will run together.
Run little love, right down into these waters,
right back up again, and then on forever.

Many tears, many years, so much pain in our rejection,
Little love, we can leave them behind in the waters,
together with the tears of our Maker.
The tears that He wept with us,
the tears that He wept for us,
All through the day and even through the night.

The tears, the fears the cold, cold years
the Creator, He will wash them all away.
Far, far away, they will disappear with the tide.
So run little son, we don't need to hide.

Years of love in our Creator's nurture,
Years of raising in God's admonition,
Little son, my hands are His, and so is my heart.
What love, beginning to end from your Creator,
What love, end to beginning from your Father.
Since from you, little son, God will not ever, ever part.

Look ahead my son, and do not look behind,
not even above or below.
Everything we need, we have here and now,
Little son, run...so much hope is ours to find.

We will run together my little love
with so many beside, free as the dove,
down into the waters, right back up again
And then on forever.

Once again, it's to Life, to Life in our Creator!
We can sing and dance on the way,
laugh and clap our hands all day.
We will run little love together with our Maker
down into the waters, right back up again
And then on and on forever....

Hear the Silence

by

Miryam Nahar


How much greener do my eyes see the fields
More golden the silken evening sky
More treasured the sparrows remembered,
And those which today flutter by...
Finally seeing the smiles
Which for so long to me would not yield.

Once again to see the childlike fascination
Of the cerise coloured horizon,
The wildlife and the parks,
the countryside,
Not as soiled by crime and pollution,
As there in the boroughs of London.

Oh London, London!
What are the thrills in your lights and corruption
The race of traffic and suffocation,
The lifeless faces in your streets
The attacks on the shade of my skin.

So hear the silence,
so golden
Now in the physical,
As well as in the spiritual,
Not always seeking our death and destruction.

After all, the flowers in Heaven
Reach out with Love and Compassion,
Crying out for existence here in their garden,
Ever yearning with patience the great return.

So London, London!
Release to God the children of my youth
To clear their eyes once again to see all truth,
as they win the battle between them and you
Because of the prayers before they were due.

Let's run together ( final version )

by

Miryam Nahar

Run little son, right into my arms.
Hold my hand and we will run together.
The Creator, He's waiting, and we will run together.
Run little love, right down into these waters,
right back up again, and then on forever.

Many tears, many years, so much pain in our rejection,
Little love, we can leave them behind in the waters,
together with the tears of our Maker.
The tears that He wept with us,
the tears that He wept for us,
All through the day and even through the night.

The tears, the fears, the cold, cold years
the Creator, He will wash them all away.
Far, far away, they will disappear with the tide.
So run little son, we don't need to hide.

Years of love in our Creator's nurture,
Years of raising in God's admonition,
Little son, my hands are His, and so is my heart.
What love, beginning to end from your Creator,
What love, end to beginning from your Father.
Since from you, little son, God will not ever, ever part.

Look ahead my son, and do not look behind,
not even above or below.
Everything we need, we have here and now,
Little son, run...so much hope is ours to find.

We will run together my little love
with so many beside, free as the dove,
down into the waters, right back up again
And then on forever.

Once again, it's to Life, to Life in our Creator!
We can sing and dance on the way,
laugh and clap our hands all day.
We will run little love together with our Maker
down into the waters, right back up again
And then on and on forever....

Keren Shemesh

by

Miryam Nahar

Where can those days go Ammaji,
Where could my exiled years ever take them?
Thousands of years of our Indian blood,
Fixed in our souls, forever.

Where Ammaji, are the warm, Indian evenings
Evenings you sat sewing, embroidering.
The days of sugar cane and pomegranates,
Shopping with Akhtar your treasured brother.
Days of living in love,
Days of comfort,
Your 'Keren Shemesh.'

Days when you learned the dance
Days so carefree, filled with hope.
Where can these days go Amma,
These days when you yearned your Lalaji's love,
Days of comfort,
Your 'Keren Shemesh'.

Your Princess Cinderella, she dances
Your 'Keren Shemesh', a longed for, distant, memory
Yet alive in her, her blood, her soul....

Locked in the cold, dark, wet room
Here in England, the land of your thankfulness
Your little darling, she dances.
Controlled and terrorised, yet she dances.
Up, down, flying, your little child,
Secretly, she dances.

Fragile, tender arms, reaching out
Yet rejecting all sorrow, she dances
Touching the dream here and now,
Instead of always waiting for tomorrow....
And through the window is shining
Her beautiful, beautiful, 'Keren Shemesh'.

Oh my 'Keren Shemesh'.
It really is all right.
Up, down, flying, I danced for you
Up, down, flying, I danced with you.
Always there I know,
For where would you think to go?
And here you remain,
My 'Keren Shemesh'.
It really, really is all right.