Thursday, February 26, 2015
Although I was beaten down time and time again,
I accepted and embraced the pain and the suffering,
Agony became the forge and I was the dulled blade,
Honed, hammered, hewed with such fire and force that I came back anew,
refined into a razor's edge,
As tempered steel that shall neither bend nor break,
I was reborn to be a fine force to be reckoned with,
The iron phoenix that always rises from its ashes,
Eyes burning hotly with the flames of indignation,
While others let their rage run wild and rampant,
I focus and channel my fury with surgical precision,
Talons cutting and eviscerating like serrated knives,
With each beating, I became stronger than before,
Heart unyielding, spirit immobilized against harm,
Those who sought to destroy me and to shatter me inadvertently gave me the keys to mental evolution, Today I am stronger than ever before thanks to agony,
Neither man nor machine can hope to break me now
All rights reserved hegemony
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
All the time he cried;
Tried controlling his eyes.
Sometimes his veins did burst
Into rhymes of his pain's word.
Is he strong
Or does he suffer the dawn
Trying to break his back?
Attitude with that he walks
Knowing that he is a failed box
Is like chilli in a chocolate bar.
All rights Reserved (c) Zaid Ali Ansari
This type of poetry is beautiful in that it describes and convinces it's audience about the surroundings and more.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11828134-Suffer-by-Zaid-Ali-Ansari#sthash.bNVLnLpp.dpuf
Thursday, February 19, 2015
On , 22-year-old Tomi Alipa was killed by Islamic terrorists in Central Sulawesi, Indonesia, while working with his mother and sister near their home in the sub-district of Poso. Shortly after Tomi left his mother and sister to take the family's cattle home, Jana Ode and her daughter, Dian, heard three gunshots. After finding her son's lifeless body in the forest, Jana confronted a group of eight Muslim men and demanded to know why they had killed Tomi. ...
With violence increasing how can we as Christians pray and seek God? Through praise and worship.
The Santoso-led network known as MIT are thought to have killed at least three Christians in Poso district in retaliation for
the recent arrests of six members of their group. Police discovered the bodies of Christians Heri Tobio and Imanuel
Tetembu with their throats cut. Between 1998 and 2000, Poso was the scene of extremist violence in which more than
2,000 people were killed or went missing. A peace-agreement was signed in 2001, but new extremist groups have
continued to form, putting Christians in Poso at risk.
"Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need."
VOM works with Christians persecuted for their faith in Indonesia. Four Christian children who were orphaned after their
parents were killed are receiving help with university fees.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
In the middle of the green cornfields below blue cotton candy skies,
You may find my man weeping like a little child,
No amount of probing can tell me the reason why.
Then one day I found a journal under the rug,
It gave me some insights into his tortured mind.
It read as follows, “Dear Mary (me),
I am a dead man walking among other dead ones.
I lived once before the Great War broke out.
Oh! It was a war among the riches to become richer,
All they did was create armies of starving men,
To kill each other and cleanse our lands of them.
God only knows how that solves the world’s problems!
I was one among those emaciated men
Born into poverty and lived in poverty
War promised me good food and dignity
So I joined the forces to fight the war
And all I managed to get was some scars
On my mind which is now marred.
PART-2 (The Great War)
This is the tale of the day
That marked the start of other horrendous days.
The president's speech was echoing in my head
“War is the handmaiden of progress."
I reluctantly rose from my bed
And the cadet in the bunk above (Joseph) spoke of mulberry trees,
Of winters beside the sea and the glories of drudgeries.
Then he softly asked me," Can we flee?"
I replied, ‘Our home is almost thousand miles away.
We would end being detainees.'
The general roared forward and a thousand cadets died.
The battlefield was drenched in blood,
Men strewn on ground like fallen leaves,
More men of ours than them Turks.
Of all in our camp only thirty two survived,
All those who lived were grateful,
As we had not an inkling of what was in store
Death laid his icy hands upon Joseph
A look of astonishment on his face
Did he not know that death is liberation?
We were near in a POW camp not too far
Later I’d pass those fields to work
Joseph was still there in those fields
Gradually his astonishment turned into a permanent smile
His flesh and skin gave way for ivory bones
All those who were alive became mere shadows and foot sores.
PART-2 (The stolen years)
In a city of beautiful mountains, guarded by a stone gate
Civilians numbering to thousands, would meet their fate
They had ran their way to safety from the Ottoman Empire
Little did they realise they would perish in the shellfire
Some days later the Ottoman Turks did encroach
To kill all the Christ’s children like cockroaches
One by one they were brought into a caravansary
Sounds of clicking revolvers marked the onset of this butchery
Fountains of crimson sprouted, lakes of crimson pooled
Heaps of still bodies rose, like mountains kissing the sky
Who among them was the vainest?
Who among them was the greediest?
Nobody knows because they are now mere corpses with gaping jaws
Glassy eyes and a fixed stare as life withdraws
A tiny boy with a catapult in his one hand and tiny stones in another
Seemed to be looking through from the blanket of cadavers
Glassy eyes did seem to say,” I will complain to god about you.”
Did he not know that he’d never meet god as there ain’t any?
I was among those demons with the revolvers
I had no choice but to follow the orders.
PART -4 (Epilogue)
This is where I pawned my humanity
Thought I could redeem it later
The days of hardships eventually faded
The price I had to pay was fixed
A piece of my head to live out the rest
Of what the world calls a decent life
But in the deepest whorls of my mind
That tiny boy aims with his catapult
Maybe an apple fell down once
Maybe some mangoes fell down
But his tiny hands never grew
His glassy eyes never moved
I stole his youth and manhood
I stole his mother’s destiny of watching him grow
And I mercilessly added it to extend my time.
Why wars? Why ethnic cleansing?
Is to satisfy man’s greed or to satiate man’s inner beast.
I still don’t know.
Matthews.” - See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11908500-Stolen-Years-by-varsha-rajendran#sthash.qKXnjsuF.dpuf