Categories
love

In the desert

I hear voices telling me I'm not enough.
My inadequacies gang up for an intervention, 
And I'm the center of their morbid attention:
"You are and will be found wanting."

Camel skin marked the way way back. 
The desert stirred as "Repent" echoed along 
The lonely shores of the River Jordan, and throng
Upon throng came to listen. I'm not there. 

A straight, flattened way for the Lord
Was the requirement for any form of joy. 
Yet all I bring are curves, hills and voids, 
And inability to do better or more. 

"Before birth, before you were formed..."
I've read that, but should I believe it? 
Definitely it was meant for some great prophet, 
Not me, seed on rocky soil wilting away

How shall the Lord travel these traps 
That my hungry angry soul sets in despair? 
How shall he navigate a heart so in disrepair
Even spiders won't build webs there? 

"Don't be afraid, for I am with you...."
Whispers floating to my cowering ears
To persuade me to cast away the fears
That gang up to jail-bar my attention. 

With four candles burning on the wreath, 
And my healing heart still thinking about my fate 
While making the straight to welcome the babe
I move to not be afraid for He is with me

It's a child's craft on the potter's wheel, 
The trembling fingers on the archer's bow, 
A wrench eating at a loose nut, but I sure know
That I'm not alone in fixing that manger 
Which for the Architect is Heaven's harbinger

(c) nyonglema


Categories
surprise

Bright Lights #transfiguration

Whoa! I have never seen this one before!
Diamonds sparkling where trees swayed, casting
Their awestruck projections of myriad rainbows
Upon our faces, and straight to our hearts.
What feeling is this?
This brings me back to that day on the boat,
When salvation changed my trade, and made the day after
Never the same.
How can I describe this post-war type
Peace that pervades my heart like a first breath,
Like a first love?
Even the fragrance of white lilies swims into
My nostrils, are the others getting this?
Who is that? Wow, that beard, that robe.
I know.
I know.
I know.
This is amazing, should I talk to him?
Should I inquire what he did when we left him behind?
Should I…wait, and who’s that now?
Oh the beautiful chariot of fire. Chariot of fire? Chariot of…
My goodness, are we really here? Rabbi, is this where
We are promised?
Is this where we shall find rest after it all?
Rabbi, this feeling should last forever.
These bright bedazzled rocks, the sweet music
That paints joy all around us subtly,
These smells never before smelled,
All this should last forever.

(c) Nyonglema

Categories
sadness

On his blindness by John Milton #writing201

On his blindness by John Milton
When I consider that my sight is bent, ere half my days in this dark world and wide, and that one talent which is death to hide lodg’d with me nearly useless…

I’ve been in specs since 14, but have been myopic from birth. Myopia being a strange condition in my environment (my gramma on the paternal side could thread a needle at 90), it was ignored until I couldn’t copy the questions on the chalkboard in school, and my grades blurred into the distance as my every experience.

I still remember my first glasses and the glee in me as I could see leaves. It was magic no other soul would comprehend: there they fluttered and waved at me, green and beautiful, each with its own character. Gone were the green blobs that stood at the end of branches. This poem from John Milton represents my greatest fear, and for having lived most of my life without seeing more than 2m on, and for having imagined doomsday as days without my eyes, the words ring deep within me. My consolation lies in the line where he states that it’s ok, one will find a way to serve God even in these conditions.

Here goes:

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

-John Milton

Yes, I can also serve even without this marvelous talent we take for granted!