The brightest flame is most doomed.
It arrives like clean gravity, sudden.
A flare in the hollow chest,
clockwork chewing the wick of hours.
It makes ruin look like scripture.
It gilds dust, names it heaven.
It teaches the dark to blink,
then laughs porcelain teeth, shattered.
We gather, rugged witnesses, alone,
palms open under ember rain.
We swear it will not vanish.
We speak vows into static walls.
But fire is a feral engine.
It eats its own oxygen, tenderly.
Marvel bleeds; the self is prison.
Release comes bright, then brutal.
O brief seraph of heat,
you governed our pulse with light.
You made the void feel mortal.
You made our names ring, once.
Now ash repeats your outline.
Stillness spins, merciless, patient.
Nothing stops. Nothing starts.
Only a glow, remembering collapse.
Let this elegy hold your flare:
a scream folded inside brightness.
Trust grew fanged, loyalty grew wings.
Then soot, soft mercy closed your mouth.
Into the furnace of a storm,
All worldly treasures melt away.
Your gigantic anger,
Your holy hope,
Your accumulated wealth,
Even your piles of debt—
Thus,
It seems we are born anew.
Yet, we are not born anew.
Inside the storm-like furnace,
Everything melts.
It seems we are born anew...
Yet we are not born anew.
The beginning is now the beginning of the past,
The end is now the end of the past,
Hope is now the hope of the past,
Achievement is now the achievement of the past.
The blade of grass is cut down,
It seems to vanish.
Yet the blade of grass is born anew.
The grass of the past
No longer exists.
But the furnace
Exists forever.
"We shall meet again in heaven!"
1//
In that furnace, sacred embers write hymns on the ashes, while the twilight body wears the weaving of ancestors who have become wind;
Mother stirs silence like mud, giving birth to a piece of sago for the sky from the tears of the sago palm that never stops praying.
2//
Mother's ancient pot is the cup of eternity, ready to catch the rain that drips from God's palm to the lips of the aging earth;
Its smoke rises like incense, carrying the names of my ancestors like white birds returning to the altar of light.
3//
When night covers the shoulders of the earth with a mantle of eternal shadow, that furnace continues to breathe as the heart of a home that knows no eternity;
Oh mother, in your silence, older than time, you sincerely sew love on embers until dawn is born as a child of prayer.
Atambua—Indonesia, July 10, 2026
[Verse]
The pressure is real
We are out of time
The rulers of this land
Committing crimes
We resist
We will not bow
They're onto us
Lord help us now
[Verse]
I lock my knees
We take a stand
We have no king
But the Great I Am
It takes an army
to push us down
At golden feet
We hit the ground
[Chorus]
We pray to God
He's the only one
Who can save us now
And send His Son
Oh Here we go
a test of faith
A furnace of fire
The testing place
[Verse]
I look around
At my two friends
They begin to smirk
I start to grin
Smiling now
We saunter into
the fiery furnace
Our debt is due
[Verse]
We three go in
With no doubts
We do not burn
And four come out
[Chorus]
We pray to God
He's the only one
Who can save us now
And send His Son
Oh Here we go
a test of faith
A furnace of fire
The testing place
[Tag]
We three go in
With no doubts
We do not burn
And four come out
We oppose mediocrity, not an anecdote for souls,
but forged they’d be in the furnace, a burning coal.
It breaks up the mundane, a bolt of lightning flash,
aspiring to be heaven’s host, waking from the ash.
We’re not just transcribing, etching a fading script,
but artists of the abandoned, by firelight dipped.
We explore the remnants where society lies low,
where shadows are cast and worn currents flow.
With a rebellious stroke, we embrace the divine,
from the false facades, a truth-telling we assign.
We toss aside the nutrition that dulls the soul’s fire,
and build soaring meditations, climbing ever higher.
Our ink is not just black, but stars’ scattered light,
a testament to spirit, tenacious through the night.
Against the corrosion, a steadfast, gleaming beam,
the poet’s defiant quill, chasing the endless dream.
In the furnace of the world, merciless yet full of light,
Stubbornness is the ship that carries us on seas of dreams,
Joy is a dancing flame on waves of ash,
The paradox of life, a rainbow in the storm, misunderstood.
Under the harsh sky, the stars sing their silence in whispers,
And happiness is a volcano erupting from mountains of ice,
In a world of iron, our hearts are fireflies,
Carried by cold winds to horizons of memory.
In a valley of shadows, where time becomes a shadow,
We embrace the light like an old, lost friend,
With stubbornness, we weave smiles into golden tapestries,
And in the dance of life, we find our place on the eternal stage.
In the world's fire, where pain and joy are twins,
We carry our dreams like treasures in an ocean of ash,
And each day, we learn to listen to the symphony of silence,
For in the chaos of life, we are born again and again.
Some people said they loved to link biscuits
and something and some other cookies of the woods
and the blissful sweet and nice waters- but felt not
to go into the berkery now or perhaps-
I said congratulations brother, blessed be the new moon.
Some people said they loved to link biscuits
and something and some other cookies of the woods
and the blissful sweet and nice waters- but felt not
to go into the berkery now or perhaps-
I said congratulations brother, blessed be the new moon.
We go to hardship
We go to shame and defame
To gain salvation.
They're played but a ridiculous role,
Rather giving the thing a long pole:
I tell you bleeding many a heart:
One could see their billions in a cart!
At the cities' garbage glances stole,
Their hearts quite hard the blackest charcoal:
That's never a way to in wealth bask,
Leaving what partly should be one's task.
To who wants them to make it a goal
He also wants them to out cash dole!
So, it has been everywhere furnace,
Guys who unload their trailers Menace.
If one saw where they slept would wilt,
At nights human wastes on tar built...
To CO-VID 19 Campaigns most kind,
Because a lot of big laurels did mind;
To its sweet publicity not blind:
They shall in newspapers their names find...
"Yes, in the streets one can see the dirt
But none would dare to stick to my shirt."
In the book of Daniel there is a story told
The story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego
King Nebuchadnezzar made a decree
At the sound of the music, fall down and worship the gold idol or you will see
A fiery furnace will be your fate
Get on your knees before it's too late
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego refused to worship the gold idol, no way
Our God, whom we serve can deliver us from the fiery furnace, we will not obey
Into the fiery furnace they were thrown
However, King Nebuchadnezzar saw they were not alone
The king said there is a fourth man like the Son of God
They are NOT hurt in the midst of the fire where they trod
The King said Shadrach, Meshach, Abed-Nego come here
Their bodies the fire did not seer
As they came from the furnace door
Their garments were as before
King Nebuchadnezzar said, Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego
Who sent and angel to protect them because they trusted God I know
Any people or nation who about their God say anything amiss
Will be cut to pieces because No other God could have saved them like this
Don't turn on the furnace yet it's only early November
If we can make it lets wait till December
Wear some fussy socks for your feet
A woolen cap on your head as you sleep
Sweaters and scarfs and mittens too
Cuddling under a blanket for two
We got to do what we got to do
Dang the Inflation of twenty twenty two
We got to eat so use less heat
The price of gas has got us beat
Doing without and making do
Duck tape those old shoes
Last years fashion is good enough
For Christmas don't expect new stuff
A recycle gift from your closet will do
Since you never wore it it's new to you
Eating out just not happening
Home cooking thanks to crazy old kook Joe Biden
So when we gather like Whos for all to see
Around our missing Christmas tree
Who can we thank for our profound misery
All together from the young to the old
Let's go Brandon! we scream for our Inflation woes.
Autumn has come and the golden sun
Which shines in the garden today
Is gentler now, and a walk will allow
Without making us all melt away
In August, it was scorching and blazing
A furnace is mild in compare
Now it's warmth is a joy and amazing
This day is so pleasant and fair
In summer I felt like a captive
From the house we would jump in the car
We really weren't feeling adaptive
In 110 degree heat...can't stroll far
October has come, and we praise God
The summer is gone, we're so glad
Now over the garden and backyard I trod
With my children, and their precious dad
Long I've grovelled
Plainly I've waited
To see the rising fire
and finally get lifted
Far from incandescent mind
Betrayed by sight
but in honoured scent
I felt the blazing horizon
Trekk i did to closer comforts
In seeking peace from rising red
To accept the calm in orange overtones
Finding purpose in the perceived chaos
What is it about a furnace
That welcomes dread?
The vivid of bright
that plays with the eyes
The punching scent that
comes with it's progress
Look intently as you breathe
And maybe you too can see
The peace of dancing colours
The exciting warm embrace
of uncertainty
There on the horizon
close to fear
Lies a dancing peace
The pieces of which
Engulf the senses
Look intently as you breathe
There on the horizon
Finding purpose in the chaos
Far from incandescent mind
Dhaka city
under the temperate zone of the earth
my favorite city
the ultramodern buildings
there grow step by step,
two sides are full of bricks walls of palace
I'm pedestrian in them
Oh! The summer sun
nowadays
becomes very cruel
It fires
the building walls
though rainy season sets in
there's no meeting of rain drops,
no gentle weather
It seems
I'm backing pizza in the burning furnace,
summer sun burns me,
makes me dry fish
- Thursday, June 27, 2019
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