For Mercy, For Truth
The motto: For Mercy. For Truth. &In Jesus
Among the thousands of human expressions one might observe, two of them always symbolize truthfully or ruefully the time one’s in.
A smile, beautiful and simple,
salient and inaudible
could carry the poison’s of past regrets,
or the smoldering of tommorrow’s hopes
Empty barrels make the loudest noise they say,
but laughter is always about the present,
It is ever in the moment
Every smiles carries a thought,
that’s why mona lisa’s is analyzed to naught
For all that’s known, the painter might have been naked,
As her mind compares and breakdown the perverse and the sacred
A laugh is not full of any thoughts,
Just of its present enjoyment and things of that sort,
Its unpretty and in the here and now,
and denotes a life of many joys
A smile can be photogenic,
teasing with the possibility of interesting stories,
but can be laden with gulleys
and little tricks
Which would you rather own,
Laughing Lines on today’s throne,
or smiles yearn or frown
that never make it to one’s brow.
A pretty picture stuck in time,
or dynamic present overflowing down the line.
Ok, this is part lyrics to a song i’m working on. I used a style in some Nigerian songs I remember from living there, where there is a call out and a response. So the first indent is the call out and the second is the response. So here is parts of it.
“
The Loving (you got me) - by Fumi&
You got me loving the things you do
oh i’m loving the things you do
All the times we spend together
Well, all the times we’ll spend togetherAll the starry nights i’ll spend with you
oh all the stars will shine for youI love the time I spend with you
oh, all the time I spend with you
I hope we can make this go further
Oh lets take this deeperWe can ditch our cars and ride our bikes
or we’ll walk a mile with our hands a tethered
And there’s a time we’ll laugh
A time we’ll cry
to the way we try
break ourselves ”
We, whom the country enchants, keep tender memories of certain springs, certain woods, certain pools, certain hills seen very often which have stirred us like joyful events. Sometimes our thoughts turn back to a corner in a forest, or the end of a bank, or an orchard filled with flowers, seen but a single time on some bright day, yet remaining in our hearts like the image of certain women met in the street on a spring morning in their light, gauzy dresses, leaving in soul and body an unsatisfied desire which is not to be forgotten, a feeling that you have just passed by happiness.
In the scents of the air,
lies the very transportation
to ferry you into another people’s lair,
a part of this medium
It’s in my neighborhood
where the white chinks
make their frenchly things,
And the black krakers
ride their car of stripes.
It’s on the shores of
Number five Dale street,
and number 20’s turf
that the way of fiji and the swiss
come at me, 50 feet from my bed
Offset arrangements of coffee cups
In tragically hip patios and shops.
My fair Kabul,
the sun escorts your beauty,
your moon and stars are gentle,
full of fraility,
I remember.
The real eyes are in our hearts,
the ones that give a double take,
a scan and spray on an old tale,
the one we we built and watched from afar.
The voices are a chorus in the wind
In the wind, and in quiet places,
taking up the whole mind,
asking about the names and faces.
My kabul,
my father,
my brother,
and our days come together in a jumble.
Gone are those eyes, that smiled
together with mine,
Gone are those hours, our dignity held
in chambers of time
We were always one,
past the parties,
and fancy dresses
I should have never shun
you out, and you’d still be unturned.
My baba,
Our Kabul
and its hills are on fire,
Now its my turn,
my turn to watch and never see days,
like those when we flew our kites into the sun,
And watched the sun escort us.
A suspect gait
half-way between that of a lady
and a tom-boy
A suspect voice
mid-way between a joke
and that of a choked up throat
Suspectly fit,
somewhere between a runner,
and a midnight snacker,
Yet,
she is suspiciously beautiful, you see,
half by nature
the other by nurture
Suspiciously beautiful and wild.
You know how people put others (imperfect people) on pedestals. Guys do that especially to girls. I’ve always known that guys who do that are deeply flawed (proverbs mentions of this too), but this short story is pretty interesting. The guy in it seems to be selfish, and the pedestal he placed his wife on, shows more of his flawed characteristics. Her unfaithfulness dims in comparison to all his tragic flaws.
The Jewelry
Fairy: (Act II scene I, midsummer night’s dream)
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be:
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone:
Our queen and all our elves come here anon.Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,—
And yet a place of high respect with me,—
Than to be used as you use your dog?
We were young once,
And color blind,
and deaf to guile
and tongues
In our nuclear units
we learned of and to love
and to fear strangers
We grow though
looking and encouraged
to find love
in the eyes,
in the guiles,
and tongues,
of perfect strangers.
hey poetry man,
write those words
that read like foreplay