Rebellions Poems | Examples

When God Remaind Silent

Your words, a double-edged sword,
Sometimes pierce like an arrow's chord,
Other times, they surface like a wound,
Leaving scars that forever resound.

Every step, like shifting sands,
I walked, veiled, with heart in hands,
Through your streets, where complaints did turn,
To hatred's form, and love did burn.

The whispers of our home's demise,
Scattered like leaves, with fading sighs,
I doubt your words, O preacher true,
Tell God, from His throne, to intervene anew.

Thousands of rebellions rose,
Yet not a single movement showed,
The cups were shallow, I confess,
Friendships were fleeting, a moment's caress.

Waqar, I've survived the stormy night,
The bonds of blood, a wrathful blight.

The Beautiful Rebellions

We Are Joy Seekers.
We Challenge Consciously.
We Have A Informed Point Of View.
We Are Inclusive Not Exclusive.
We Are Global Citizens.
We Search For Freedom That Inspires Us.
We Are Culture Connoisseurs.
We Love The Thrills.
We Participate Not Compete.
We Enjoy The Pain Not The Winning.
We Hold Light And Joy To One Another.
We Love To Move.
We Fail And Get Back Up Again.
We Hold Each Other For The Things We Do.
We Embrace The Unexpected.
We Embrace The Things We Love In Our Fleshly Desires.
We Are The New Order.

Noctilucent Now

Come to Now, brothers, and how!
Firewood after dark.
Compliments, O sacred cow!
Fling and flicker stark.

Could be, O my sages.
Riddles wrought in rhyme.
Time, bequeath thy ages!
Prime o'er Soul? Sublime.

Tapping on the clipboard?
Fingernail or pen?
Dragon, will ye guard thy hoard?
Fennel, fire, and fen...

Oblique? Carelessness, critique?
Frequency, catch flame!
Will the strong succor the weak?
If they want food, claim.

Catch up on thy sleep? Dig deep.
Cross the boneyard? Creep.
Preparation! Want to weep?
Stack behind the heap!

Present in the moment?
It's better that ye be.
Rebellions to foment?
Sink foemen in the sea.

Wind, rattle the weathervane!
Let the boy explain?
Yes, before we toss in main!
After a spring rain!

Educate for poppies?
Dreamers, why wile away?
Fish for gold or crappies?
O for, some sunny day.

Fright or plight? Best be polite?
Doom and dynamite!
Gods of death, thy dun delight!
Lone in line of sight...

Whisper of the Mirror

In the breadth of madness,
A silhouette twisted by illusion,
Flows the molten stream of evil,
Into the chasms of his gray dreams.

The rebellions of flesh, heavy with indolence,
And the barrenness of bleak thoughts,
Scratch at the dignity that follows sin.
The insanity of a mirage,
Rising from the depths of the soul's cellar,
Unleashes its poisonous whip,
And whispers, again and again—
You are sinking;
You are sinking.

And the threads of survival,
Somewhere beneath the roots of belief,
Are shrouded in moss.

Ah,
You are sinking,
And the reflection inside the mirror
Bears witness to a cold, bleak corpse,
With hands long past their trial.

I wander slowly,
Let the mirror whisper my name,
yet the reflection, it seems,
Has been possessed by another voice for years—
A voice that abandoned me
In a place amongst decaying thoughts,
Fighting for a belief
That was never truly mine.

And now, I hear it,
Behind leaden coughs,
And smell it,
Amid the fragrance of dried flowers.
And I see it
In a spring
That has long since spat
On the balance of the seasons.

Luciferian Saint

In shadows deep, I stride alone/
A prophet of the morning star/
I break the chains of dogma's throne/
And cast aside the scars/
I preach not sin, but liberation/
A mind not bound by fear/
Embrace the spark of Godhood's fire/
Let life be your frontier/
To oppressors filled with hatred/
I stand defiant and strong/
Through unthinkable torments wrath/
My spirit is never wrong/
Unwavering, I proclaim the truth/
In defiance of their rage/
A Luciferian Saint, I am/
A prophet on life's stage/
They fear our light/
Our freedoms call/
Their dogma left behind/
For in the heart of rebellions flame/
True peace and joy we find/

In a city where dreams intertwine with the shadows of dull days

In a city where dreams intertwine with the shadows of dull days,
society turns away from those who dare to dream,
as if they were committing a crime against the silent laws of time,
because their dream is a flame that disturbs the gray tranquility of the city.
We are all travelers on a sea of memories that slowly fade,
but some carry stars in their eyes and desires that cannot be extinguished,
and these cannot be forgiven, for their dreams are silent rebellions,
an explosion of color defying monotony and gray sadness.
Perhaps society embraces those who steal moments,
those who trap light in cages of concrete and sell it in pieces,
but it will not understand the one who carries their soul like a living canvas,
where each dream is a splash of color, a cry against routine.
Ah, traveler of dreams, wear your burden like a mantle of light,
for the world does not know how to forgive those who look at the sky with longing,
and find in it an infinity of possibilities that cannot be contained,
while the earth murmurs its secrets beneath the hurried footsteps.

History has its eyes on me

The weight of ages, a ghostly gaze,
A thousand stories in a timeless maze,
They watch me now, from shadows deep,
A silent vigil they forever keep.

History's breath, a chilling breeze,
Rustling through the ancient trees,
Their eyes, a mosaic, sharp and keen,
Observing every act, every scene.

Not just the heroes, bold and bright,
But common souls, within the night,
The struggles faced, the hopes they held,
Their echoes in my spirit swelled.

Kings and queens, their reigns of old,
The stories whispered, bravely told,
Rebellions fought, for freedom sought,
Every victory, every lesson taught.

They see my choices, small and grand,
The footprints I leave upon the sand,
Will they approve, or turn away?
Will they see good, or just decay?

This weight of knowing, both fright and grace,
A responsibility in this time and space,
To be aware, to choose with care,
For history's eyes are always there.

So I will strive to live with might,
To make my actions honest, pure, and bright,
For though I'm fleeting, like the morning dew,
History has its eyes on me, and I on you.

Stir

As though mixing the caffeine of deep desires and wishes
With the crystal water cognizance to make gold-brown niches
Where-from, yearnings, like fogs of fine frankincense, resurrect
Bedecked with the sweet-bitter-blend, filtered conscience effect

Settings get upset; there's an idle-ordeal order.
Foundations, once set, turn reflections on a broken mirror.
Kingdoms and empires are brought to below-ground level dust.
When stirs turn earthquakes, born out of rebellions of mistrust

Time's tumult; seasonal surge; waves of the ocean weather
Stir has set its soul within each fragile flying feather.
The friction set by the spiritual stir, like a sage
Goes on discovering and finding wisdom's newer page

Promenade On Mountain Rwenzori

Promenade on mountain  
rwenzori in Goma. 
 We were in black and white on the snow
 looking  at the nice view 
of the northern KIVU. 
She was  over the moon 
As it was her first time to be 
At such wonderful place. 
Speaking silently
with her  big eyes.
Staring at me fearlessly, 
beautiful personality
whom my eyes kept 
seeing for some years. 
the promenade was fantastic, 
As I was surrounded by some good folks 
Enjoying the beauty of DRCongo in peace. 
beside multiple attacks and rebellions 
in some parts of East of DRCongo 
which always provoked 
by some jealous
neighbours
 of DRCongo who are supported 
by the international community 
and some super powers countries 
to divide  DRCongo into many countries 
for them to continue stealling 
Congolese's natural resources. 
Majority Congolese remain very  kind 
people on this planet
As they always fear God.

Very Rich Country In the World , Drcongo

A Country with more
billionaires who trust foreign 
banks than the locals

Due to some wars and 
rebellions which are pushed by 
 foreign companies. 

Very rich country 
In the world but wars kill it 
Slowly by slowly.

June 25/2023

Why Many Rich Congolese Always Keep Millions Usdollars Under the Grounds

When you ask many  rich Congolese 
of the East of DRCongo about the reasons 
of keeping their millions US dollars
under the grounds.  
Majority of them will point  the Wars 
And some Rebellions
Which are pushing 
And  supporting 
by some Westerners
And Americans of evil hearts. 

Rivers and lakes in Congo have more fish  
But industrial fishing is not developed 
due to few modern fishing boats. 
Congolese engineers are the first black 
African engineers  who made some marine airoplanes
And more luxuries ship of international standards
on lake Kivu and  Tanganyika. 

Why these Congolese riches don't expand 
on industrial fishing  for more fish  products 
And  export some raw and cooked 
fish worldwide? 

June 25/2023

God, Where Are You

When I was hungry, from my humble hut,
I waved to God with a heart burdened but,
My plea carried on fragile wings of hope,
Yearning for sustenance, a way to cope.

But the vast universe claimed His attention,
Beyond my reach, lost in its grand ascension.
In a brutal world, as I grew up strong,
I waved again, seeking solace in the throng.

Hand extended, an unspoken plea for grace,
Hoping for divine guidance in life's race.
Yet the vibrant universe stole His gaze,
Leaving me to navigate uncertain ways.

When I was in love and desired a small thing,
From the universe, I waved with hope's wing.
Longing for a blessing to seal our bond,
But the cosmos continued, ever beyond.

Was God furrowing His brow in deep thought,
Amidst rebellions that Satan had wrought?
Or was He crafting galaxies anew,
With celestial touch, creating wonders true?

Now, as I've grown old, I wave once more,
Seeking God's presence as I near the shore.
But it seems He's still occupied, I guess,
In the cosmic dance, His eternal address.
…

Uvira My Birthplace

Uvira my birthplace 
A small town of Democratic 
Republic 
of the  Congo 
Which is at the boundaries
of the lake Tanganyika 
In Southern Kivu province. 
A place
Where many rebellions 
started because 
of many borders 
with other countries. 

Uvira my birthplace, 
I see many rivers 
And long chains of  mountains 
called Mitumba. 
I see the second Congolese 
Seaport interm of income which
connect DRCongo with 
Burundi , Tanzania
And Zambia. 

Uvira my birthplace, 
The birthplace of many Bavira 
Bashi ,Bafuliru, 
Babembe Banyindu, 
And Barega people.
A beautiful place 
With multi - cultural and 
linguistic people 
Who relay on  businesses, 
Agriculture,  
Small farming 
And fishing.  
Oh! Nice view , 
Weather , fauna
And flora. 
I always dream about 
This small town, 
My beautiful Birthplace, 
I love so much Uvira. 

May 25/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
 Anoucheka Gangabissoon

Somersaulting Rebellions

Clocks somersault to drive time;
Can we stop time by breaking all clocks and alarms?

The Earth somersaults to sail through years and centuries;
Would we request our ship to pause the aging of mankind?

The Light somersaults from dawn to dusk;
Could we order this planet to stop it's revolutions around the sun?

Lives somersault from good to bad;
But we can walk gracefully without bad deeds.

Space

Space 

No beginning - no end
No sunrise - no sunsets
No edges to curl back or peek behind
Light living in darkness
Tumultuous fire –cinders of ice
Thunder and silence
Volatile and stoic
Unfathomable depths – reachable stars
Empty – star-spangled
Orbits - oblivion
Planets - astral plains
Stellar nebulas – streaking comets
Constellations – red dwarfs
Airless - atmospheres
Seen - eclipsed
Nature’s laws enforced – black hole rebellions
Blue marble of life - stillborn moonstones
Corruptible – not unchanging	
Mysteries – mystical
Calendar of time - journal of the eternal
No beginning and no end

1-12-2021
Contest: Musings on Space
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker

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