Long Triumphed Poems
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He was the Lamb that had to be slaughtered
during the Passover and without Calvary, there wouldn't have been any salvation;
nothing would have forgiven our unpardonable sin!
Christ, as Isaiah prophesied, came when Jerusalem
was in dire need of a king who promised freedom!
The Romans were the conquerors with that mighty sword,
but only the defiant Barabbas waged war against Caesar with many a rebellion!
Many say that we shouldn't venerate the cross which Jesus died upon,
but without the presence of that cross, we couldn't have been saved;
Jesus' blood gushed from it, to stain the rocks below, and wash all inequities away...
and the weeping and wailing of His mother Mary deepened when Christ expired,
as the earthquake jolted Jerusalem's streets and Temple,
to even make the envious and skeptical Priests tremble,
the radiant sun became invisible as darkness covered all;
and was it a coincidence or the undeniable fact that God Himself showed us His mercy?
We haven't carried the heavy wooden cross through Jerusalem and being whipped,
and laughed at; and we haven't seen those women cry for the Christ whom they heard speak;
and we haven't felt the agony of the most atrocious hour that He endured for us all!
An impostor wouldn't have suffered and died to become the Redeemer they awaited,
a liar wouldn't have glorified His Father and preached a Gospel that offered much hope;
History was changed at Golgotha, and human kindness nurturing divine love triumphed!
Lord Jesus, many heard you speak on the Mountain and beheld what we could not!
Lord Jesus, Andrew and John stood by you and comforted Your Mother with their tears!
As you promised the good thief...Lord, remember us, too when we testify in Your favor
or die for Your sake! Paradise awaits us, and all who believe in goodness, not evil;
the excruciating crucifixion was predestined, not being staged by Man who hated love,
it had to happen in order for Humanity to reconcile with their forsaken God of Israel!
We can never be worthy for Your sacrifice, unless we become the messengers of true faith...
to uphold truth and dignify love as you often did in words and deeds!
If we forget Your passion, nothing can magnify the purpose of Your death;
and without a shepherd, this flock will aimlessly roam among rocks and weeds!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
A Sky of Water
Arabic Poem By: Falah Al-Shabender*
Traslate By
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
====================
A sky of water
Doesn't blaze in a glance;
It follows us, as we head towards it,
Fraying its essence,
And transcending in its mysteries;
Emptiness .. Mooing.. And dizziness swallow us,
Undigested.
Here our faces are prayers,
The horizon is a hearth of died out ashes
No effort is needed
For faith in the supreme.
A phoenix
From the far away echo
Drops a shadow painting a sign,
The road leads to.........
Only if I had a seeder
For this bird hovering above us,
And if I hoped for any good from it!
But, No; it's there by chance!
If I set up a trap for it,
I'd capture it.
But, no,
Not this.. and not that!
We've defined its sky,
And I have the seeds for it
-What are your seeds?
-Words, Sir!
-I don't think it reads.
-But it could hear!
In the floating cave, their fourth was the bird,
Landed on the threshold.
- Only if this bird would write us on land,
To be our witness!
Of wood they carved a ladder,
And climbed the index of birds;
Their mu'ezzin called:
The nigt is nibbling at the day,
Digging its valley,
Pouring in seepage of the last farewell;
In the naked night,
We become more than what we are..!
And what hangs us to the sudden in the darkness,
We wait to see what comes out of its abode;
Because this hour,
Is the hour of mere animal!
It senses our nakedness,
Chills with patience
Floating creeps in .. A floating drum
Over a sky of water
The voice creeps ...
Somber chant:
The opposite triumphed........... The opposite is defeated
Falling rain .......... Rising smoke
Breathing and exhaling
The opposite triumphed........... The opposite is defeated,
And the foam exhales
Paper of disgraced thoughts;
The waves giggle;
We retreat, swinging with bias,
Turn around, and revolve around "the intoxicated boat;"
We retreat,
Our backs meet,
And we join;
The tough waits for the tough
"To be or not to be" ............ That is the guffaw!
Oh, sovereign power of the sea,
We are sand;
The bird is belated
And we are picked up by dust.
*****
Translatedby:
Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
USA
February 2010
*Falah Al-Shabender is a poet from Iraq
The original text in Arabic: http://www.alnoor.se/article.asp?id=80084
WHILE PASSING THROUGH:
My heart speaks loudly on the tablets.
Ink leaving traces of my thoughts;
Mind-spills left on paper,
addressing the survivors of humanity.
Desperately I have searched
and found many messages.
I will not come and leave
without passing them on
to the generations forward.
What I do while passing through
gives leverage to the vestige, of our investments.
Though you've cheated death a thousand times
you still must die, one time!
Though we have been used and abused,
we have toiled. and have been allowed to exist
only because of what we do.
If it were not for our abilities we conclude,
we would have perished like a weed
unwanted and sprayed.
The human will have endured.
Even with your best plans and
your most crucial diseases still
you could not separate us from our souls.
Though you've cheated death a thousand times
you still must die one time.
We have baptized your ideas into our reality,
religions and concepts, we have been
foolishly obedient in this servitude.
We've had no problem following your rules,
even though we were not your first mules.
Many souls are wailing. We still triumphed over evil.
The jokes on you, we know how to be good.
We know how to live righteously almost,
and we do, when you let us.
But your own straying gave away the hoax.
I hear souls wailing, voices joining mine,
as we cry in unison. You are the thieves in the den.
Stealing everything we bring in.
Though you've cheated death a thousand times
you still must die one time.
Do not count the dead bodies
on the bus ride, home,
that only causes nightmares.
Wait until morning, if you make it back home,
listen to the news of the body counts;
It's easier that way.
Get a good night's sleep
and your mind set will come back
to its original state.
No matter if we save your life,
raise your children, fight wars side by side,
one day your mindset will return to
you, to feed upon its own ignorance,
like a dog who returns to its vomit.
This too is a promise.
We are under no obligation to any man,
my course on earth, direction,
space, time, no problem.
Though you've cheated death a thousand times,
you still have one final death to die.
Voices from the ashes
I
Note that I was murdered to have risen transformed
Note that my flesh and blood was readily made dust
Note that my bones and skeletons got incriminated
Note that my impetuous voice echoe from the ashes
Note how I was silenced... to have risen transformed
Note how I struggled: from the liberational coercion
Note how I triumphed over the sceptre and bayonets
Note how I gamed over the war sceneries impeccably
II
Note that I was flawless, efficient, resilient, competent
Note that my energies were sapped during the event
Note that my knee crawled from valley to valley deep
Note that my aim was for the betterment of the kins
Note how I was enslaved* before and fought swiftly
Note how I become a guerilla in motherland, savage
Note how I raptured apart the foes and the schemes
Note how I became violent and vigilant in my domain
III
Note that I was a victor before I got engraved deeply
Note that my wrath did grew with the evolution peak
Note that my beloved comrade back stabbed his own
Note that my bornes has risen the ashes mold vessels
And let my long gone blood reflow from the pool of
That Impetuous distant rivers, and rekindle the lost
Blazing flames of the Chimurenga wars... Magamba
Josiah Tongogara the barracks named after decades
IV
Denote when I rise from the ashes I votes mercilessly
Denote when my passions gather I will spit of venom
Denote when my strengths grew I will fight back fists
Denote when my courage reverberates I will burst out
Denote when I become potent, I will reign over again
Denote when I am with the mighty I will aside favours
Denote when I reign the Augustus house it will report
Denote when I speak order will reign, reconstructions
V
Denote how the muddled economy will reboot again
Denote how the incubators of corruption will vanish
Denote how the lost zealous and confidence bestow
Denote how the ills and evils will be driven to extinct
Denote how the brothers will cheer from the drums
Denote how the sisters will break a leg to Jerusalem
Denote how the fathers will fail conscience off brew
Denote how the mothers will pail the yeild in joyous.
For them.
To her the word love refers to a boy.
Something she yearns for and misses dearly.
The day they met was cold and fraught with January chill.
“Oh, that does seem so long ago.”
That is the untarnished memory she replays over and over again when events in her life go array.
Back then it was tangible and real, their lives together had not been succumb to so much misery and woe.
They have triumphed, failed, and even caused each other more pain than can be imagined; But through it all they always walked the path together, holding each others hand.
She loves him unconditionally and for that some people cant understand but love needs no excuses, certainly not for them.
She adores him for working so hard, slaving to the man trying to base a future and a plan for them, but she feels guilty that their small American dream over the years has always led down a dead end.
With today’s hard times she knows they are not to blame, but still her idol hands carry burden with them.
A plot of land, a small farm, and a home to call their own so they may grow old.
that’s all the pair desire.
He loves her to, a thought that at times is unfathomable.
He admires her dreams, even if they are bigger than the world and never distills fear in her that they wont one day come true. She thinks ill rationally and believes in things as a child would, but this merely makes him smile at her spontaneous outlook.
To him she is like a wild bee, searching ferociously for something.
At times he doesn’t think she will ever find it, that’s why its so hard to see her cry.
Life hasn’t been fair for them.
It’s a tragic book that just keeps reading on.
But they muscle through living on their dream and knowing that as long as they have each other, everything will be alright.
And as they drive home to their house with no walls, catching glimpses of each other in their ratty car they don’t feel so alone.
Behind those blue eyes, she will be forever nineteen to him and to her, as she gazes into his brown large pupils; the boy she knows has grown into a man and at that moment they know, one day all the sacrifices they have made will pay off.
Two hallowed heads strived for a legal edge,
Heard the case—but the horse still trailed the cart,
Took time to ponder— head over the heart,
Spirit of law bowed still to letters' rage.
Sympathized with the plea and not yet still:
‘We allow a passive mercy killing,
One active we can't'— the unfair sibling,
And final word shall be Chair's pondered will.
Fair words always are worth a goodly wait,
Wise words take much slower walk to arrive,
A tune many a white wig love to drive
At, mercy must wait for her date with fate.
Yet, passive killing scarce can be mercy,
It's too cruel, heartless as inhuman,
It adds, rather than allay patient's pain,
Pity, the justice can't quite that way see.
Murder in mind, red handed if one's caught,
Proved and punished, he might hanged be till dead
As our legal revenge that be red-hot,
But mercy killing's sin—murder in bed.
And look at words of wisdom from the Chair:
Her friend cannot closeness to victim claim,
Few visits make no friends, wise words as were,
Poor she, made to carry the cross called blame!
Poor Mercy, in court room ever decried,
Reducing life as breathing of bare breath,
Justice triumphed— life prevailed over death,
Much before she, her dignity had died.
Poor patient condemned— to live bare but bone,
To live what was no life, nor ever death,
In a state much maligned, in twilight zone,
And Lady Justice lost had all of faith.
______________________________
Happenings | 04.03.2011, revised October 2024 |
The Supreme Court Bench deliberated on the petition by a sympathetic heart for mercy killing of a nurse in Hospital, a victim wronged by a hospital hand. The much-awaited verdict on euthanasia is now out: The court may allow passive killing case by case; but active killing is a strict no, no. And yet, active seems so much kind and humane to the patient, whilst passive killing is like torturing the patient slowly, and seems somewhat cruel. In this petition, head has triumphed over heart. Life that is no life has triumphed over death. And dignity has died. Read also, ‘And the death lingers (11.02.2011) '.
III
Return
Patrick had to deter the robbers
And thieves he met along the road,
Ward off viscious creatures,
Yet steadily he strode
Until, at last, he came upon
A landmark he well knew
And saw that he had triumphed over
Obstacles not a few.
He made it back to his family,
Into the arms of his mom and dad
(No tongue can express the emotion
The three of them then had),
"I made it through great hardship
And I only have to say:
The Lord who freely giveth
Doth also take away."
Patrick stayed in Britain,
But his heart started to burn
Not after adventure,
But for greater things he yearned.
One night his mission came to him
As he sat in meditative trance:
He was called to monastic studies,
To study with the church in France,
But something was not settled,
Nor was his conscience still,
He felt that there was some obligation
Yet to be fulfilled.
But then he knew for certain
His duty burned brightly as a flame-
He must return to his former master
And pay the ransome on his name.
Patrick wandered back to Ireland
To pay his freedom's fare
And on his journey, travelers he met
Going to and from there,
Confused with tribal teachings
And pagan rite belief;
Though this was their religion
They had but small relief.
When, at last, Patrick arrived
On his old master's land
He was met by men on horseback,
-A formidable band-
They knew, at once who Patrick was
And using undue force,
They beat and bound the runaway
And set him on a horse.
He was brought to his old master,
The men seeking a reward,
"And now it comes that you must die!"
He said, drawing his sword.
"I have come to buy my freedom!"
Patrick, from his own neck, tore
A sack of gold, his life's ransome
And threw it on the floor.
Patrick was loosed from what bonds
Of debt he felt he owed
And to his former master,
Duty and right he showed.
Patrick stayed a week or so
Teaching Christianity
And before Patrick left for home,
The men could clearer see.
Form:
Sandy stole my words.
Desolation and despair
triumphed
attempts at descriptive
narrative
paled in comparison
to the cold, desolate reality left
behind.
Humvees and police cars patrol
debris clogged streets.
Red and blue emergency lights
strafe empty lots where homes
once stood.
Houses ripped apart,
tilted, torn, gravity defying
structures,
now open vistas to the ocean,
calm today
that last night roared through
and leveled homes
and the playing field between
the haves and have nots.
How can water wreak havoc of
this magnitude.
Unprecedented wave heights
on top of swells
went where they would,
unbridled, uncaring natural
force,
mother nature raging, roaring
not in spite
but because she could,
ran amok
reminding us of her majesty,
her power
and the fact that
there but for the grace of God
we have been privileged to
live.
I can't be mad at the ocean.
It is my life blood.
It courses through my veins,
grounds me, embraces me
unconditionally.
Dark, grey afternoons settle on
our town.
Houses dark since she hit
sit waiting for owners to make
the next move.
Restore the shore
to what?
Glory days of yesteryear
surface in isolated pockets,
quickly erased by scars that
will never heal.
Open wounds on a landscape
trapped
write it off as a once in a
lifetime event
or is Sandy the new norm.
There is a zombie like feeling
waiting in the wings.
Vacant stares, shaking heads
prevail.
Unrestrained optimism battles
resignation.
Fool me once and it's on me,
fool me twice, what then.
This is my home, a living
dream personified.
Sleeping, waking, walking,
loving living exactly where I
dared to dream about so many
years ago.
Time is not healing.
Each passing day another
storm related issue.
Another family lost everything.
Everything.
How do you get your arms
around that.
Where do these people go,
How do you rebuild what was
such a personal extension of
your family history.
O to have endless stretch ‘pon earth to roam,
Return to rest, to roost, to my sweet home.
Sweet home, forever a mighty magnet
To go back to an ever open gate,
Its awe and allure never once on wane,
Nor depends on what it might well contain.
For, home’s no house with a roof, walls and beams,
What makes it what is: love and lasting dreams,
What makes it home are sweetest memories,
Strife and struggles that bind, make families.
Bricks and mortars make no more than shelters,
Home, of love of shades that fades nor falters.
I’ve never heard of a home constructed
Like brick-built house, but painstakingly made.
History hath hailed homes in print so bold—
That its hollow of heart’s lined with pure gold.
O inspire me to go and explore world,
Which, having done, hail this migrating bird.
My mind. my feet may wander all the dome,
Not heart, it haply drops anchors at home.
If life be a coiled thread, one end in hand,
Thou doubtless art O Home the other end,
One may or not get to the coil’s far end,
The way to thee Home, always is in hand.
What magic that one tends to hate to leave,
And feels good to return one early eve.
Man flies but misses that feel of firm ground
And looks for it like a child mother-bound.
So I feel if for long in foreign land,
What’s that O Motherland ye hold in hand?
If to my soul, body be lifelong home,
To atman why not all the cosmic dome?
Few things sound sweeter than thee, O my home,
When deeply uttered, ye sound nigh like AUM.
In mother’s gaze of grace and warm embrace,
One feels at home from lifetime’s toil-filled race.
There’s sunny warmth and shelter of blue sky,
Thou art the last resort from every sigh.
In life man may have triumphed, travelled far,
Notstanding still, home hails like Polar Star.
Whenever he hath lost his life’s address,
Sweet home, ye always beckon O to bless.
_________________________________________
Ode | 02.02.2023 | home
Write An Ode Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jeff Kyser
Dependable Defender Jésus Christ of Nazareth Football Club
This morning lost His appeal for the red card He received
During His side game with the highly rated Pharisees
He’ll be unavailable for their match against the Sadducees
He was sent off by no-nonsense referee Pontius Pilate
For defeating a host of Principalities and Powers
The Club failed to have the decision overturned by the Jurisdiction
He will therefore be sentenced to death by crucifixion
The ‘Special One’ is to make no comment on the decision
After Herod Disciplinary Committee dismissed the club’s appeal
Jésus offered Himself as a *Sacrificial Lamb* for a collective guilt
On the football club’s recent sloppiness and wilt
The Stalwart Defender's Penalty
Will begin with a physical torture
Followed by carrying a heavy rugged cross
Is the Disciplinary Committee right? Make your gloss
GLOSSES FOR JESUS LOSES RED CARD APPEAL :
Tony Taylor writes, March 28th…2:17
A typical King Herod Decision!
I think the decision needs a
Gary Neville writes, March 28th….2:19
Watching Jésus on the field is immensely enjoyable
This Rock from Nazareth is just unconquerable
Rashford writes, March 28th….3:15
Corrupt official! Corrupt leader
All they care is 30 pieces of silver
Major Buckley writes, March 28th…3:17
HE CAN’T GO AWAY WITH IT!
CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM! I submit
Nana Ama writes, March 28th…..4:17
The decision by ref Pontius Pilate was very harsh
Jésus triumphed! And He did it with great panache
Wolf writes, March 28th….5:15
The blame must lay with Judas and McCoy
Surely it’s their fault not Jésus. Sorry boy!
Omar writes,March 28th….. 6:17
You’re an idiot’s wolf!
This Jesus should go play golf!
Crucify Him sir! Crucify Him! I rest my case
Jonathan Reid writes, March 28th…7:17
I personally think Herod can’t rescind the red card
We talking football politics. He didn't tackle too hard
Leave your gloss in the box below