Rusty stones of rich history,
Clasping debauchery and misery.
The luster of lauds that built
So sturdy and sacred a monument
To human ingenuity is gone.
The glory of God has left this place.
When men for comfort seek the less,
Placing their trust in self to impress
One another, human ingenuity is gone
For adventure's the empty pews and
Hope is the incensed processions replaced
By tourists, for God has left this place.
Carved and chiseled with ancient craft
Shaped by sun and rain and stringent draughts
She stands forgotten , old brown, dead windows,
While bustle rushes past the oldest building
of Amsterdam. Just that: The oldest building.
Heaven once met Earth right here, in this place.
But incense's been traded for coffee shops,
The light of His abode molded by red on top,
And the pentagon, that once let in light
Looks on the stone streets where spirits die.
Oh how low the hope of man has really fallen,
Not to see what could be, right in this place
Where's your crucifix oh ancient bauwerk?
The tourist go in and out, I dare not
My tears well. Where's your light? Salt?
The colors around ignore my pain.
Sin's for sale. Oh woe be all that
Took God's glory out of this place
(c) nyonglema
de Oude Kerk - exile in full view
DINTS
Divorce, severing hope and mercy from promise
Is a desert of dust-laden rushes of sand:
Not loud, yet sapping health and all peace.
The quiet hides despair's gold-veiled bland
Solution to the problem of evil: Suffer!
(c) Nyonglema
Interesting take: A Homily on Marriage
The Battle for Witnesses
The war cries deafen in thunderous dust:
Churning Earth with mortar,
Bullets pelleting dead soldiers,
Muzzle flashes barely visible through the crust
On their viziers. War scars
Will form years after marching orders
For those who must live with memories of the lost.
Now, expletives at pain inflicted in the battle.
They tumble, we crumble,
Bone fractures, cursed mumbles.
Blood’s a minor distraction in this macabre hustle.
Eyes half open, mouth blown off,
The bodies in cursive in troughs:
Friends will mourn friends in memory of this tussle.
OR
thank God for the life of the fallen —
Who, rosary in hand, went forward
With the proficiency of the Bard,
Wrote, even with axe threatening, for our calling
Into the New deadly Way,
That brings life for aye,
That speaks truth to spear, arrow, or cauldron.
The great news of Life abundantly given.
Nero, Napoleon… all failed!
The martyrs live even impaled
For victory in human view isn’t so in Heaven.
(c) nyonglema
Good intentions, without a moral compass, can be detrimental.
Immaculate Conception
For spirits rare, a vessel rare
Chosen one, chosen for the Heir!
He shielded you from Adam’s stain
Eve’s gain he made you to disdain
Loving mother, hear this misery
Oh Immaculate heart carry
Our sincere confession of faith
To Jesus, even just a wraith
(c) nyonglema
PS: This is part of a longer prayer to be released in time for the Assumption 😉
Kery James – La Rue ça fait mal (translated)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0aLlrEEH4c
Verse 1
You’re using ink, I’m inking with tears
Missing those links cos I saw their flesh tear
I’m from the hood not the set of Jaws,
Hid my prints doing my childhood chores
Whatcha thought, bro?
In these black holes, whatcha saw bro?
They offed my homez, and then torched the corpse
I’m carrying the lead that beats your hardcore
Pre Chorus
I don’t turn gangster once in a studio
Six feet interred, that’s how curtains close
Fireworks flare, shells, lifeless ‘n silent
Try using tears to feed fire hydrants
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
Verse 2
You paint with ink, I’m painting my strife
Ain’t got a mirror, bro I’m using my knife
My heart’s too dense to buy your mirage
No daydreams in this dark garage
Whatcha thought, bro ?
In your black holes, I know what I saw bro:
They offed your homez but you just can’t be sure
You’ll be in denial till you meet at the morgue
Pre Chorus
I don’t turn gangster once in a studio
Six feet interred, that’s how curtains close
Fireworks flare, shells, lifeless ‘n silent
Try using tears to feed fire hydrants
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
Verse 3
To all who’ve lost a loved one to a firearm
To the mums living like without their arm
To the dads crying out their heart’s solitude
Waiting to die, totally destitute
Years of education now stuffed into a box
When you tote steel, you’ll one day have to pop
The hood’s booty calling, you want a fine ride?
Dude you’ve got sugar mixed up with cyanide.
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
(c) nyonglema
Mustard Seed
Light a fire upon the raging fire?
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain:
Why add more fire to fire?
Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:
(For the twig is now bent over,
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles,
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)
That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials:
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,
Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.
(c) nyonglema
Literal questions idiots literally ask
Is Schrödinger’s cat dead and alive? Does evolution explain the start of life? Can naturals make 2 + 2 five, Or bacteria make a metal fife? Is it safe to go piñata with a hive, Or ignore and let a fungal infection thrive? Can a human claim to have dog feelings? Or the rind of oranges be potato peelings? Can a wheat plant bear maize seedlings In Antarctica, Iceland or the Straits of Bering? But there is dumber yet: Who sowed the farmer? Who sewed the seamstress? Who baked the baker? Who raked the gardener? Who fried the chef? Who dyed the stylist? Who fabricated the engineer? Who programmed the programmer? And the worst of all: Who created God? (c) nyonglema
To Emmaus
He lived, they saw, they followed He died, they feared, they burrowed He lived, they heard He lived, they saw, but burrowed Or left: despair the venom Seeping into the herd The women gave a new testament The dead man Heaven sent Was dead no more. The apostles gave same testament He lived and died and under went Then rose to more But such witness may not suffice And more of the Old opened the eyes Of the walking pair Maybe this age losing its sight Can be hinged on this singular fact That the New comes into light, Still hidden the ancient artefacts That prop the story up aright. He lived, they saw, but burrowed Even as witnesses gave testament For they knew not of the Old, Of prophets, and Solomon's gold Of Ephraim, and Rehoboam Of Susanna's guiltless sorrow Maybe we can't see the Old in the New And by keeping only the partial Testament We worship ourself, call it Neo-testament, Rejecting the Lord's call to go over anew, From Genesis to see His grace anew That at the breaking of the Bread We may see His glorious Godhead. (c) nyonglema
Going up
Higher he soars, the one who calls us to more Eyes stare, the clouds do pirouettes A silhouette against the advancing sky Some cry distraught at it happening again: What's to gain if the Master disappears? Memories of the first mass Bread broken, wine shared Hope poured out, on sandy stone On a hill gasping with bare bones Break oh break, hard heart of mine As our Lord leaves to another sublime clime. Oh wake, oh wake hard heart of mine The promises form out of the clay Of the fabric of time before me Hope covers my shivering body In quotes of all that He uncovered From our knowledge new discovered What wisdom we missed, Isaiah! For now, a silhouette against the advancing sky He goes before us as advocate: He lives. (c) nyonglema
waghni 