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Best Poems Written by Auguste Romain Nyecki

Below are the all-time best Auguste Romain Nyecki poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Happy the celestial spark which does not blossom in an impure body corrupted by the vanities of this World.
It remains pure and luminous, escaping defilements and harmful influences, which can tarnish the vital essence of any human being.
Her flame shines brightly, radiating goodness, wisdom and love around her.
Like a precious jewel, it remains connected to the universe.
She stays true to her inner nature, ignoring the fleeting temptations and frivolities of the material world.
She is like a twinkling star in the dark, guiding those who seek truth and inner peace.
Her selfless love and unconditional compassion transform people's hearts and make them realize the beauty of simplicity and authenticity.
She knows her journey is one of constant learning and spiritual evolution, and she embraces each moment with gratitude and humility.
happy is the conscience that refuses to merge into the darkness of ignorance,
She remains eternally alive in the memory of those whom she touched with her grace and her discernment.
Its lights pierce the borders of time,
Inspiring damaged souls and illuminating enlightened minds, even after his passing.
She guides the lost and the afflicted to the fountains of truth.
His benevolent presence leaves indelible marks,
On those who crossed his path,
She seeks neither glory nor recognition in this dimension,
His happiness lies in harmony, peace and detachment.
Trials do not frighten him,
She knows they're part of the journey,
Each catastrophe represents for her, a chance to accelerate the release of the potential of whoever is her host.
She uses the chaos of adversity to absorb energy from the gloomy whirlwinds of fate she controls.

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The Parables of My Soul

In the twilight of my melancholy existence, love savors its bravery, like a vulture allergic to the suspicious aspects of ephemeral glamour, in a final macabre choreography.
On the edge of the precipice of my dramatic choices, my sacrifices reveal the artifices of their curses, but also the selfishness of their spiritual benefits in the face of the imposture of the supposed crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
The eloquence of my silence allowed my innocence to resist the violence of arrogance.
The tyranny of hegemony and the xenophobia of foreigners breed racial savagery and imperialist barbarism, while Western supremacy is transformed into a burlesque comedy trivializing negrophobia.
Suffering generates sentences, but sometimes repentance opens the way to independence, so that insolence can never turn into condescension.
Between the medals and the funerals, between the reunions and the reprisals, battles grip the rudder of my destiny, with a range of tortures.
My emotions oscillate between devotion to justice and the promotion of disbelief, urgently seeking remission of my transgressions, before the purification of the flames of hell plunges my divine spark into the furnaces of illumination.
The liberation of my ambitions contributed to the strengthening of my convictions, so that my determination unleashed the full extent of my potential.
My distance from dementia is minimal, even if the angel of death exempts me for the moment from the penances of the eternal abyss, my blasphemies sow the seeds of a new hope.
The history of my people is the memory of its victories and the grimoire of its disappointments,
Despite the decline of the pharaohs, the savagery of slavery and the barbarity of colonization, she taught me saving lessons so that my Africanness could flourish throughout the Earth.
In the permanent search for truth and sincerity, I aspire to freedom, equality and fraternity,
To a serenity, far from the vanities that humanity loves to adulate to forget its fragilities.
Between my feelings and their punishments, stands the sanctuary of the last judgment, their compliments obscure the lights of my cosmic atom.
In the quarrels of my past, the aftereffects persist, recalling the rebellious periods of my tormented soul.
I will never trust human beings, even if immortal love challenges my conscience.

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THE DARKNESS OF HUMAN PERDITION

On all these battlefields, shrill howls,
 Corpses riddled with rotting bullets,
 Abandoned tanks on fire,
 Under this black sky of mourning, where death makes its home.
 Where love has vanished from all these hearts darkened by hatred and greed,
 the henchmen of the furnaces of hell express and realize all their fantasies.
 Torn by the cries, by the tears, by the torments of war,
 I walk like all these soldiers lost in the darkness that inhabits humanity.
 My uniform stained with innocent blood bears witness to the battles and the agony of all these victims,
 My soul bears the scars of all these horrible wars.
 The tears of the earth were drowned in the hot hemoglobin of all these bloody battles.
 Peace no longer appeases these minds, frozen by jealousy, infamy, hypocrisy, deceit, slander, savagery, barbarity and tyranny.
 My brothers in arms have all tasted the glory of the lights of ultimate sacrifice.
 All these oceans of pain spread by human wickedness.
 Have made my existence on this planet bland.
 Under the weight of regrets, human beings prefer to wear masks,
 To hide the horrors of their darkness from the shadow that stands in front of their mirror every day.
 For centuries, cannons have sung dramatic symphonies, but peace remains a dream,
 For millennia, the din of weapons has sowed terror.
 But humanity continues to invent weapons of mass destruction.
 Thanks to the darkness of earthly vanities, I face the punishments of my life like a brave man.

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Outside the Livestock

Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, three precious ideals, blinded by the darkness of xenophobia.
The Republic, democracy and human rights are the pillars of a just society, but in the depths of Marianne, their fragility reminds us that nothing can be taken for granted.
Perhaps it will be necessary to decapitate a few heads again on the Place de la Concorde, so that the age-old splendor of revolutionary France can be reborn from its ashes.
Foreigners are constantly discriminated against and treated like cattle, their dignity trampled underfoot.
Illegal immigrants, without a residence permit, live in promiscuity, seeking refuge in a nation that rejects them.
The homeless proletarians, scattered in the streets of the homeland of human rights, are proof that equality is slow to become a reality for all.
Stigmatize Africans by systematically associating them with delinquency and drug trafficking,
It is to ignore the segregationist policies, applied in disadvantaged suburbs,
It is choosing to look elsewhere, faced with the cruelty of France's criminal shenanigans in Africa.
Racists, racialists and nationalist supremacists propagate toxic ideologies that divide rather than unite, creating deep fissures in a France with a legacy of slavery and colonialism.
Negrophobic xenophobes are chained to hatred and intolerance, they despise the salutary values ??of inclusion and the riches of diversity.
Enlightened pan-Africanist sub-Saharan Africans carry a vision of solidarity and continental unity, which advocates the search for the realization of Africa's potential.
Terrorism, capitalism and globalism form an explosive cocktail that disrupts the balance of the contemporary world.
Patriotic fascists, racialist stereotypes and colonial reflexes are infringements which hinder the evolution towards a community attached to egalitarian principles.
Under the lights of the slave trade, amnesia is a medicine for all those who want to forget the past and the horrors of the dark pages of the lugubrious history of sweet France.
The Code Noir gave rise to the transatlantic slave trade, and the Code of the Indigenous was the foundation on which colonization rested.

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OPPRESSION OF FURNITURE PROPERTY

Their philosophers dehumanized our ancestors.
Their missionaries demonized their humanity.
Their merchants made them chattel.
Whippings, rapes, amputations,
For the training of wild negroes who can be forced to work at will.
The expression of barbarism in all its splendor for all these bodies soiled by oppression.
From Africa to the Americas, they crossed oceans of blood and tears.
They suffered the yoke of white masters, cruel and soulless.
They were sold like cattle, separated from their families and their land.
They were exploited, humiliated, tortured, without ever losing hope.
They sang, danced, prayed, to resist the hell of the slave trade.
They carried tons of cotton, sugar, coffee, on their bruised shoulders.
They forged the history, the culture, the wealth, of their greedy oppressors.
They created art, music, literature, with their souls dazzled by the nightmares of servitude.
They gave birth to heroes, martyrs, geniuses, despite their lives destroyed by negrophobia.
They fought for their freedom, against all odds.
They faced violence, hatred, racism, with courage and dignity.
They claimed their rights, their identity, their pride, with strength and solidarity.
They have inspired movements, struggles, revolutions throughout the world.
They are the sons and daughters of Africa, the cradle of humanity.
They are the brothers and sisters of America, land of diversity.
They are the fathers and mothers of the diaspora, symbols of fraternity.
They are the ancestors and descendants of negritude, the expression of beauty.
Black in skin, but not in heart, they knew how to love and forgive.
White with rage, but not with reason, they wanted to dominate and exterminate.
Black and white, but no gray, they had to live together and accept each other.
White and black, but without hatred, they were able to dialogue and respect each other.
Even if the demons of xenophobia are immortal.
They suffered, but not in vain, they left their mark on history.
They dreamed, but not for nothing, they changed the world with their mark.
They lived, but not like dogs, they honored life with their mark.
They loved, but not without restraint, they illuminated love with their imprint.
What can we say about these men and women, who have given so much and received so little?
What should we think of these executioners and these victims, who took so much and gave so little back?

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the hill of epitaphs

In the dirty hands of poverty,
Scavengers of the Republic of Enlightenment
Quench their thirst under the eyelids of the proletarians.
A sinecure of hard drugs
To silence the lamentations of these birds of ill omen.
The crosses are upside down in the furnaces of hell;
Lucifer, the egregore of these bloodthirsty criminals,
Has no distinction against the sickles of the angel of death.
The Earth is allergic to love;
It is the war that invigorates all these hearts of stone.
I have hated justice since I waddled on the edge of the spiral precipice,
My attachment to dirty money, which is similar to a fanatic's devotion to spiritual beliefs.
Sleepless nights leafing through the black pages of my legal pedigree,
I love the silence of darkness, like the darkness of a sequestered coffin in a cemetery.
My reflexes are monetary and my passions are deadly.
I only have partners;
I'm not your brother, I'm lonely as death.
The mood of a Palestinian in the shoes of a Pharisee,
Suicidal like these Africans
Which cross the Sahara and the Mediterranean.
A Kalashnikov in the brain,
I proudly accept the darkness of my words.
I am angry like all these child soldiers from the cradle.
I fiercely adore freedom in the bowels of a France filled with fascists.
Negrophobes have the right to be angry;
After all, I'm just an ungrateful who always cheated.
I didn't come to assimilate,
Just amass without calculating before being expelled.
Flashes of macabre memories to erase my nightmares,
I'm starving, thirsty for hemoglobin like a vampire.
I have been walking on death row since I arrived on Earth;
For all my blasphemy, I will end up in flames.

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ON THE HILL OF RUINS

My tears dried up when I began to commit sins,
 In the furnaces of misery, my dreams were consumed.
 In the darkness of my impure soul, love committed suicide.
 I look at humanity with the dilated pupils of an undocumented illegal immigrant.
 I have dark skin like my deported ancestors.
 In my bruised heart burn the flames of freedom, equality and fraternity.
 Under the weight of carnivorous chains, my ancestors suffered for centuries, so that I would never desecrate my identity.
 The tortures of the slave trade and slavery are etched in my tormented mind.
 In the darkness of the ruins that humans revere, I wander like a living dead in search of eternity.
 The ephemeral pleasures of this polluted Earth did not dominate me.
 I love life with the murderous impulses of a drug addict who knows that one day death will liberate.
 An ocean of tears to drown this procession of hidden dramas.

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ASTAROTH

In the battlefields, weapons are volatile.
 When the sinister charm of the angel of death preaches the gospels of chaos.
 When the greed of bloodthirsty people defiles the purity of freedom, equality, fraternity, solidarity and justice.
 In the mournful eyes of thirsty, hungry, exhausted and terrified soldiers, the tears of human savagery escape.
 While the dramas continue endlessly.
 The hills of skulls grow, the torn remains of heroes pile up.
 The sad records of crimes against humanity are constantly being surpassed.
 The overexcited parrots of war preachers repeat the xenophobic, supremacist and apocalyptic discourses of their alienation.
 Testimonies of the horrors of their demonic madness are widely disseminated.
 Innocent souls are sacrificed for vain bounties.
 The smoking ruins of their shattered empire incense the dreams of these massacred destinies.
 In the veins of their warriors blinded by barbarism, flow rivers of sorrow.
 The throne of infernal power has never been underground.
 These apostles chained the majority of human beings with the chains of hatred.
 On the battlefields, the reaper reigns supreme.
 Where is peace, where is this sweet heavenly light,
 In this putrid world, trapped in the horrors of war?
 Where is the love, where is the tender divine spark in this tumult of destruction?

Best Poems Written by Auguste Romain Nyecki

The Drift

VISION OF A TORMENTED WORLD

Heavenly Portion

The Parables of My Soul

THE DARKNESS OF HUMAN PERDITION

Outside the Livestock

OPPRESSION OF FURNITURE PROPERTY

the hill of epitaphs

ON THE HILL OF RUINS

ASTAROTH