Long Chanda Poems
Long Chanda Poems. Below are the most popular long Chanda by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chanda poems by poem length and keyword.
Standing on the springboard of idiocity, spitting out lies shamelessly. Idiots of the nation in the corridors of power.
Preaching shadows of democracy but catalysts of democratic backsliding committing heinous crimes in the broad daylight. The idiots of the nation in the corridors of power.
Their Satanic hypocrisy is the product of their arrogance and mental stupidity. Their big ego blinds them from ultimate reality.
Pretending to be superior while standing on the shoulders of the masses, the idiots of the nation in the corridors of power.
Novel entities of society lack moral values, being drunk with power. lot of the mumbo jumbo from their mouth .
Turning politics into business of lies and manipulation, the idiots of the nation in the corridors of power.
Robbing the poor and destroying their nations, mischief-makers on the world stage. thinking with their bottom and not the top !
Climbing the ladder of success dubiously and ruthlessly, committing organised crime day and night against their nations.
Idiots of the nation standing on the springboard of idiocity!
By Chanda Katonga.
Called from afar to a Journey unknown, they Stepped into the boat
The ocean was calm,not a Cloud in sight.
They asked, "Where are we Going?" He said 'into the Storm' to reveal what lies Within,they did not Understand, for they could Not see.
Three days into the journey
They were hungry and weak
Dark clouds surrounded Them,the waves grew Higher, the wind more Fierce .
The little boat was battered
Yet not broken Still, it Stayed afloat.
They wondered how that Could be. The thurnder Roared, and they seized With fear.
As their lives flashes before Them, "What have we Done?" they cried out,
He said, "You have Forgotten me,yet i have not Forgotten you."
"Who are you?" they asked.
In a gentle voice, he Answered, "the one who Holds the keys... I am he. "
Suddenly, the wind died Down, and the ocean was Calm.
They stood in silence as a Ray of sun appeared. It Shone into their souls. As They turned to look for the Stranger, He was gone.
They found themselves Alone.
Now, they understood the First time the effect Mystery of the storm.
By Chanda Katonga.
The ship was coming towards us, their eyes held the blue color of deception, the skin pinkish glow.
Smelled poverty with a demonic appetite to murder and plunder the resources of others.
A fictitious smile appeared on their faces, and the devil incarnate imaged in them. These are demonic new creatures on Earth.
Stepped on the fertile land, it became barren, their presence polluted the natural world,the devil incarnate is here now!
Where there was happiness, they brought miseries.
Where they were abundance, they brought scarcity.
Where they were peace, they brought conflict.
Where they were healing, they brought aggravate.
Where they were holiness, they brought wickedness.
Where they were brotherhood and sisterhood, they brought hatred.
Where they were oneness, they brought Discord.
The Devil incarnate is here. He is the source of evil in the world today.
By Chanda Katonga.
At the middle
of the night—
she shuffled
the cards.
Silence listened.
The Hermit
emerged.
She looked
into my eyes
and said—
Chanda,
you are ruled
by inner wisdom.
And solitude.
Your path
is not crowded.
You will walk
alone—
for long seasons.
Not as punishment.
But as design.
She shuffled again.
The wind
stood still.
The Death card
fell.
Not gently—
but with certainty.
She leaned closer.
Her voice
lowered.
You carry Pluto.
Destruction
follows you.
Rebirth
follows destruction.
Nothing
stays.
Nothing
remains.
You are not meant
to keep—
you are meant
to transform.
From seventy-two paths,
I chose one.
The hand
did not tremble.
Justice.
She did not smile.
She spoke—
Life gives
what is earned.
Not what is desired.
Saturn
keeps the scale.
In Libra—
nothing escapes
balance.
Then—
the wind returned.
Uninvited.
The Empress
was taken
from the table.
Carried
into the unknown.
And I understood.
Venus speaks softly—
but does not stay
for long.
“I want love,”
she whispers.
But love
is not gentle
with me.
That night—
I did not fear
the cards.
For the universe
does not shout.
It reveals.
Through symbols.
Through silence.
Through fate.
And in that moment—
I knew.
God does not speak
in words.
He speaks
in signs.
Deep
in the forests
of the Amazon,
I met
the ancient people
of the trees.
The Indigenous souls
of the Earth.
Night fell slowly
beneath the canopy.
Darkness breathed
through the leaves.
And there
before the flames,
the ceremony began.
We moved
around the fire
like forgotten spirits
returning home.
The smoke rose
toward the heavens.
And Ayahuasca
opened its eye.
My name
was carried
into the wilderness.
“Chanda…”
The forest
called me.
The rivers
heard me.
The gods
of the Amazon
welcomed me
into their silence.
Then suddenly,
my eyes opened.
Ayahuasca
was the key.
And I
was the door.
At that moment,
the world changed.
The trees
began to sing.
The leaves
danced slowly
with the wind.
And the sky
whispered
the song of life.
The river
spoke healing.
The Earth
remembered us.
We drank
from the stars
like thirsty souls
searching for eternity.
And there
within the sacred madness,
we realized
we were gods
pretending
to be human.
Through Ayahuasca,
many worlds
stood before us.
Worlds within worlds.
Dreams within dreams.
When the sun rose,
we became magicians.
When the sun fell,
we became healers.
And sorrow
walked beside wisdom.
For knowledge
is beautiful,
but it also wounds
the heart.
On that sacred night,
I drank deeply
from the wine
of my soul.
And now
I understand.
Life
is a school.
And I
am still
the student.
I am from Africa, and my name is Africa, I come from the Queens and Kings of the bemba Kingdom. We are bantu-speaking people .
I am from Africa, the birthplace of humanity, and my melanin is the same dark matter in the universe.
I am the mother and the father of all human races, Europe, and Asia. I gave birth to them they are my children.
I breastfeed the world, and without me, the world economy would collapse.
I am from Africa, and I have been abused,sodomised, and raped by my own children. All my children they look down upon me.
My spirit of Ubuntu is seen as cowardice by my children, iam an eyesore to my children. My skin color is said to be inferior by the "Shallow-minded."
I am from Africa, the house of abundance, the place where we bathe in the sunshine, and speak to the gods of the universe.
They say, iam less evolved human and iam backward, but I saw the sun before you. I am the first and the last .
I am from Africa. we are the sons and daughters of the sun, and we believe in the brotherhood and sisterhood of humanity.
I am from Africa, and it is my darkness that gave birth to light.
By Chanda Katonga.
I am that patient in the behavioral health units who entered into the mental world of the unknown..!
I am that prisoner behind the bars who committed heinous crime.
I am the judge who passed the sentence on that criminal who was hanged yesterday.
I am that might lion walking in the savanna land of Africa.
I am that meandering river down the mountains until I reach the sea.
I am that prostitute standing on the corner of the 7th Street waiting for you.
I am that black man who was killed by the police in the 7th Street last night.
I am the one you are searching for in the mosque, in the church,and in the temples .
But who are you, "I am God" the causeless cause ....!!!!
By Chanda Katonga.
Saint Satanyahu, a patron saint of death and deep sorrow in the world today.
You are a vampire among men and a devil among angels.
Saint Satanyahu, the world today is in pain and deep sorrow because of the darkness of your soul.
Savior of the fewer West, but enslaver of the world and Unforgettable serial killer.
In the rivers of the Middle East, you have spilled blood , found guilty by the Church of ICC.
But shielded by your spoiled sisters Amerigo and Europa,the impunity enjoyed.
Saint Satanyahu, the world is in tears having you walking through it.
You have left a painful imprint on the consciousness of humanity.
You have brought Darkness upon this world, but the world shall see light again..!!!
By Chanda Katonga.
Wisdom came from the East, not the west. Who will give the West a cup of wisdom, maybe the East?
The West had a great opportunity to change the world and make it a better place, but pride and pomposity got in the way.
Western hypocrisy is a source of social disharmony in the world. They preach peace, but they create chaos. They preach democracy but they promote tyranny.
They say they are democratic but how can a colonialist and slave master be democratic?
If they are democratic why send weapons to Gaza to kill women, children, and innocent men?
If they are democratic why create satanic organisations like World Bank and IMF that suppress the poor Nations of the global?
If there are democratic why do they plunder resources of other nations with impunity?
If they manufactured racism and operation, how can they be democratic?
If there are democratic why do they force their culture and modernisation on other nations?
If they are democratic why do they interfere in the affairs of other nations?
If there are democratic why is it that their economies were built on fraud and not critical thinking?
If they are democratic why do they sponsor Wars and terrorism around the world?
If there are democratic why are they sponsoring genocide in the Middle East?
If they are democratic why can't they leave Africa alone but plotting against African day and night and stealing its resources for centuries now?
If they are democratic why do they create poverty and conflict around the world?
If they are democratic why is it that their help and support comes with strings attached?
The West they will never learn from their own mistakes. They are like children who never grow!
Is the Western hypocrisy of human or devil?
They built their influence on the wooden Towers of lies and manipulations. Now it is collapsing.
Western hypocrisy "Rest in eternal peace!"
By Chanda Katonga
I did not come to win the world—
I came to feel it bleed.
To taste the silence in the hungry mouth,
To weep where no one dared to read.
To my family—
You held my name like worn cloth,
never quite knowing what I was stitched to become.
But I loved you more than I could say.
I only wanted to bring you light,
even if I lived inside the dark.
To my friends—
You saw my laugh, but not the war.
You heard my poems,
but not the prayers that cracked beneath them.
Thank you for the brief light,
for letting me sit near your fire
even when I smelled of rain.
To the world—
You were beautiful and cruel,
a temple built on thorns.
I kissed your mornings
and buried my hopes in your nights.
I do not leave with hatred—
I leave with ache.
An ache too heavy for bone.
If you remember me,
remember the boy who still believed in stars
even when the sky refused to answer.
Remember the man
who loved with silence,
and wrote his soul into stone.
---
I go not in bitterness—
but in completion.
Let my absence be a soft wind.
Let my name be dust upon your altar.
And if God still counts the tears of poets,
then maybe I was heard after all.
---
Farewell.
Not in despair.
But in peace.
—Chanda