I am not a coward man de facto
Who has lots of curiosity courageous
With full of consciences in mind
Having to retreat from girl strangers
Who's looking for the Like-minded friends
Being young and pretty excels diamonds
They're attractive to distinct genres of men
And making them pride while being faint
I understand these be so-called romantic
But I must decline with responsible reasons
They may feel being treated ruthlessly
By me, en facto, being valued and respected
With conscientious rooting in consciences
people have stopped laughing
and this is no rumour,
children is Somalia sufferes from scurvy
what a sad scene
has anyone seen
these countless
deaths of dreams,
dead consciences
of politicians
this dying Afrika
its dead hope.
people have stopped laughing
and this is no rumour,
children is Somalia sufferes from scurvy
what a sad scene
has anyone seen
these countless
deaths of dreams,
dead consciences
of politicians
this dying Afrika
its dead hope.
So, you had a childhood.
That doesn't make you special,
I had one too.
You consume the trauma,
regurgitate it
so others can say if we had known
we would have done something;
but they did know
and did nothing.
Now you make sure they squirm
as you stick hot needles
into their consciences,
let their guilt undo their platitudes,
and let me watch you torture;
let it cleanse me,
for I am your sister
and have eaten from the same bowl
of trauma as you.
Dowry, drug addiction, and domestic violence rule
Female foeticide and female infanticide go cool.
Abortions, corruption, and gender inequality
Racism, human trafficking, casteism, and poverty
Food adulteration, wealth hoarding, consumerism, and greed
With many such evils, we, as a society, bleed.
Where are our good-bad consciences and consciousnesses?
Where are our ethically fit philanthropic choices?
Like a crack in the rail track, there's moral delinquency.
There's a slip of synchrony in the social symphony.
Virtues, like iron in saline waters, are eroded.
Human regulations seem to be, from somewhere, goaded.
Are our weak feet slipping from the edge of a worn-out cliff?
Do we, in our sailing, seek for each leg a single skiff?
Our link to each other, to shun anomie, should unite.
Though small, for the good of all, shouldn’t we bestow our mite?
Ritualism, retreatism, and rebellion should end.
Our knees, to compassion, temperance, and justice, should bend
Why would God give moray eels
A life wherein they live concealed
In a beautiful, bountiful, rapturous reef
Merely to cause the nearby fishes grief?
When the moon and stars shine deep at night
Giving profiles to fishes in background light,
The morays watch and wantonly wait
Until their prey cannot escape.
Are morays just spokes in God’s wild wheel?
Do moray’s consciences not guilt feel?
What is their purpose? What is their ploy?
Is it just to consume those they destroy?
Where is their justice? Where is their joy?
What gives morays the right to annoy
Nearby fishes and affect their fates
While they wantonly lay in wait?
Why would God create such evil creatures
When others’ fates fear their cruel nature?
And why keep morays in ravishing reefs?
Do these evil eels provide the reefs relief?
Is a mindless moray like an inane man
Who bends people’s mores when he can
To languish their lives and besmirch their souls
Just to achieve his iniquitous goals?
On the side of a path branching off from the road
expectations of glorious guilt mount
makeshift trenches housing truants, anxiously counting
the seconds 'til school officers call off the hunt...
Free at last at 9:30 to pursue puerile passions
constructing lean-tos in trees, small campsites nearby
They'd burn down the bush in a heartbeat if only
their consciences would forget how to sigh
A picture appeared on my phone today,
on the proverbial page I perused.
A view of an evil most vile,
villainy veiled behind verve and vim.
Sadists from Auschwitz,
smiling in a storm.
Shoulders shrugging,
to shield from the sky.
No hint of the horrors,
the Holocaust they heralded.
Not haunted like the humans they harrow,
but hyenas, howling, in high humor after the hunt.
Their consciences clear, their cruelty concealed,
their cheer chills me to the core.
They caused such wicked calvary,
a calamity that echoes into the current century.
Yet they dare to delight,
while they deal in death and dread.
Their depravity so deep that they grin,
as they decry virtue and destroy millions.
But what mortifies me more is,
how mundane their mien.
Will we fear the next fiends fittingly,
or in time... if their faces feel like friends'?
Human life is one of His sublime creations.
Blessed life is entangled in the clutches of relations.
Diametric elements often co-exist.
Dragon bees and sweet honey exist at one hive.
The seven sins pride, wrath, lust, avarice,
Envy, gluttony and sloth consume souls.
Excessive pride of Icarus led to his downfall.
Blake’s ‘A poison Tree’, about wrath is an eye-opening.
Fall of Troy, envy of Shylock, avarice of King Midas teach us good lessons
Gluttony leads to ugly and shameful body posture.
Sloth pushes into procrastination of doings.
Try to overcome.
No need to encipher the secrets of scriptures
And no need to chant magical words.
Let's unmask our consciences and provide space for introspection.
We can get insight and rebuild our behavior.
Self-Examination is the best practice.
Let's be aware of what we think, speak and do.
Managing emotions builds our decorum
Right perception builds right personality.
Refining consciousness is mandatory to get rid of all impurities.
Placed: 6th
Refining consciousness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date: 01-05-2023
The butterfly counts months not memories,
Of the springs and autumn that passed away.
Emancipation from all mortal bonds,
Memories afflicted only with inscrutable fond.
Draped with lamentation of the gone days,
Repairing to the valley of desolation,
Where the pieces of those leaf-like memories,
Still hold on to the transitory trees.
A spectacular array of,
The days that we had rued,
And the inclinations of beings that were true.
Without the consciences of right,
Or wrong; which makes one love or
Hate limitless.
But inevitably memories were made,
Through some did perish away,
But the butterfly counts months not memories.
Especially the ones that made our bond.
Absent Fire
Where did you go my fervent fire?
Your absence leaves much to be desired.
Let not darkness come within your camp,
and you have not oil within your lamp.
My igniting love, you often resist,
as my appeal for love persists.
Flames now grow faint, and flickering low.
The coming darkened skies now grow.
The watchmen warns skies growing gray,
As the pending darkness now gives way.
Hearts gone cold, as consciences seared,
The wolves in the night, fill hearts with fear.
My Word to light your path to see,
An outed fire draws the enemy,
For the ready bride I will return,
With trimmed lamps lit with fires that burn.
With the cares of this world, be not consumed,
Watching and waiting for your groom.
Please awake, and return, with eternal flame,
To miss my coming will leave you shame.
Death arrests with unwillingness to depart,
Like death cold stops the beating heart.
Keep your love light strong with burning desire,
Let there never be an absent fire.
Beware and be wise.
Many fall and never rise.
Beware of your source of advice.
Check it once and check it twice.
Let not conscience be your guide.
Some consciences love to run and hide.
Sometimes they're good but often they lie.
Often weak, and on them, you cannot rely.
Look often into the Good Book of Truth.
Authored by The Almighty with proof.
Written by men of God inspired by Him.
It provides wisdom beyond the earthly realm.
For nearly 60 years, I have bathed in its pages.
Its wisdom has kept me out of many of life's cages.
011123PSCtest, A Spiritual Wisdom Download, Unseeking Seeker
carefully crafted collective
consciences collide creating
compassionate corporeal
colorful cloud chasms
one river ripple
coincidal consciences
Light lens shape of sense
physical death opens doors
leave excess baggage Earthside
Years long ago, In Africa’s largest nation,
We agreed and called it truism in notion
That Independence and freedom did celebrate
And the region’s state did jubilate-
That colonialism and external exploit may die,
In the stressful twinkle of an eye
Believing that it shall rise no more
We knew not the core conditions of the fore.
Streets, markets and on went gay
One strong aim, to herald this day
But the day of independence experience
Had taught gone and living consciences-
That political liberation and freedom
In many sad and grieved kingdom
Is not and cannot be political maturity.
This clarity has been known to reality.
©Daniels I. Daniels
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