Archives for October 18, 2015


Have I forgotten the mirrored face I saw before?
Face that a lady once said to me awe
The birth had to be the hardest my thoughts tell
This turmoil and storms
This lighting and that wind, has all been this cycle in this life? Earthed
We never did what was needed to be done
It must have been a myth
Dreams scattered all round
Scattered all round dreams
All round scattered dreams
Round all scattered dreams
What madness he looked beyond the dream
The spirit of ancient wisdom was at once cast aside
Put down from the table were the light of the candle kept shinning
Away from the lamp that was over flowing with oil
Hidden under the carpet only to be trampled upon
Put deep in dungeons of dark places
Chained not to be set free, forced to conditions of inhuman
Tortured beyond hate, spitted on them faces, insulted by words of fury
Some succumbed to the pain and golden is where they lay, as said this is an ancient story
Today as seen some still have those scars and yet they shine so bright
Then look at their tortures, empty, miserable, sad, angry, and pitiful, colourless, dull, grey, sparkles
As said this is an ancient story.
The sad part in this tale, they thought they could kill the dream, yet they forgot they had their own dreams and yet those who believed in their dreams and held unto them through bad and good are still dreaming, notice the difference, their eyes are wide open, dreams



The pleasant things you would have said, that really mattered….. Was not the………
Now that you see, what really love really meant….. How it really made you free
The fool you see…… is this……the same that made you smile
The one t who sometimes made you cry
Prepared to let you go………………for your sake
Happy those moments you’ll recall………just in a glance you will realise
Remember, deep in the sea…………in a storm……………….in a small wooden boat….the sea was rough, but me and you were so tough..
That the mighty waves were so surprised by us………that they open up and calm down to make way for us
Lighting showed us our way
That moment is when we knew we were partners and best friends
There was no fear, only fun …


“Creation reveals Your Glory”

“Creation reveals Your Glory ”
an inspired writer wrote
this rings true this morning
as clouds like waterfalls ,
flow down the mountains
the sun shining pale through
the vapour of the ‘falls’
lillies herald the morning
as coy daisies await
bright light to join in praise
,tis a beautifull morning
like every other
since the dawn of creation
when “creation began revealing
Your Glory “

Undeserved Praise

Some call it fate, others call it my lucky day;

Even if I’m unsure from wence my blessing came;

I don’t care what others have to say;

As for me all I can say is it’s my Jesus anyways;


Some say I’ve lost the plot, others say I’m crazy of late;

But I know a little secret so I just smile and wave;

I’d give all I have away;

But I’ll never trade my Jesus come what may;


See I don’t know much and I’m the first to say;

But this one thing I know moves mountains out of the way;

When I give my Jesus that undeserved praise;

When I give Him praise on credit, when I’m not even sure if He sent the blessings of today;


When you’re in credit with Jesus, He hates debt, so He’ll make sure He clears His name;

Let me go a bit deeper and explain;

I need not beg whenever I pray;

All I need do is give Him undeserved praise;


Praise for things He never told me He has done or blessings He’s sent my way;

See I praise Him not out of need, but because He is the love of my life, He stole my heart away;

Nobody had to force me, He chose to patiently wait;

I fell in love with Jesus because He was faithful no matter how many times I’d fail;


Undeserved praise, Jesus I love to be in credit with Your name;

When I start singing from my heart and tears flood my face;

As I feel Your heart break when my words penerate the spiritual realm and knock on Heaven’s gates;

As the arc angels open those pearly gates and escort my praise;


And it lands at the foot of Your throne, putting a huge smile on Your precious praise;

You see what most fail to understand is You already have it all, the one thing You don’t is our praise;

So that one thing I will give You all the time until my final day;

Jesus I’ll always give You more than just any kind of praise, I’ll give You that undeserved praise.


I dream
I dream I will awake from this lazy slumber
This dormant volcanic depository of ideas
Spewing ash and sulphur and threating to erupt
Yet in the end it is just a rumble that refuels my fears

I scream
I scream for I yearn to extract this gold mine of words
Excavate and refine them into riches and accessories
Share them wear them with pride of kings and queens
But I remain poor as they disappear like distant memories

I might
Yes I might just explode like a ticking time bomb time elapsed
Disintegrate into million pieces of creative liberty
Destroy the chains abound this mind of mine
Lo I am still just ticking, ticking endlessly

I write
I write my soul to let loose
Ideas to release out of solitary confinement
To roam free like birds of a feather together
Alas I remain a prisoner of my creative consignment

I cry
I cry for I am trapped in a bottomless pit
A hole filled with tears of concepts conceived and aborted
Once a river of joy and creative bliss
Now overflowing with foetuses unborn ideas unreported

I sigh
I sigh a relief of dejection and despair
A realisation of a crossroad between triumph and defeat
That thin line between fantasy and reality
Then to the latter I quietly retreat

Then I hear
I hear a voice speak softly to me
Then I fear
I fear for it is the voice of my soul begging to be set free
Set free to write
Set free to spread my creative wings and take flight

Wisdom toothache

this is your workstation,
prison, cubicle. This is where you die.
your soul keeps the steel spinning
crimson keeps on spilling
creatures keep on feeding

keep on living on pills, waiting at tills
to feed your insatiable habits
like a, halibut, habitually hopping on to the next fad
The black on your nail’s cuticle
just postponing your nation’s funeral.

I’m Herod.
Just kidding, it’s Harold
Relax, it’s only your first day


In my heart most vulnerable
Where in my mind do I realise
So true to be myself
In this sorrowful, scornful and eventful path
Where many men trade love for hate, truth for lies
Happiness for anger and one another for nothing
In land not ours, treasures not ours and life not ours
Do I see proud faces, when death comes treasures remain, where our pride looks will pride no more
Where what you said was yours will be measured
Where not even the greatest liar flatters with words nor say anything boastful and deceitful
Where we will be rewarded for his ways



So broken as glass, a feeling of it is over
Neither under the moon will they reach, not even my strong feet can reach
Is it too far?
Was it so short?
Can we believe it?
Keep breaking my heart
Keep playing my mind
Farther I cannot go
Under a tree will I rest with thorns as my pillow and wish to have a peaceful dream



Be like a tree, stand like him
Feed without favour
Bear beautiful leaves
The rain a true companion
Lighting a rod to him
Tasty his fruits, everyone is impressed
Bitter his fruits, no one is impressed
His roots he never forgets, they his anchor
Have many hands like his branches
Take no advantage when his young
Careful when grown, he will crush anything
He is humble, the beginning of clarity



Most of them are north
Only those of broken hearts and thoughts remained south
Dreamers of money
I; am a fool to write this piece
Wisdom is better at the hands of those seeking him
She told me of older man and their fortune
For a moment I nearly drowned in my misery
I said his bones are as weak as his strength
His eyes as dim as the colour grey, but once he was young and great, it was then when his fortune was laboured for
Now he is not old enough, but weary of life
Now my princess go find yourself a hard working boy, grow with him, tell him of the rich old man and the sadness in his eyes
He will be astonished and question and say a rich old man who is sad?
Tell him not to waste your energy in getting rich; my son for the only regret of the rich is dying not in peace, bur poor slumber.
The poor die is harshly, but where they rest is quiet, golden and peaceful