Land of promise, p.1
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       Land of Promise, p.1

           Kum Eric Tso
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Land of Promise

  Image Design: Saint Ket Publishers

  ©2016 Kum Eric Tso

  Published by Saint Ket Publishers

  This and other books by Kum Eric Tso are also available at eBook retailers everywhere.

  This book is proudly brought to you by Saint Ket Foundation.

  ©2016 Kum Eric Tso

  All rights reserved.

  This is protected under International Copyright Law. No Part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanized, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author in writing.




















































  Kum Victorine Naseh


  Kum Justina Eghem.


  This work would not have been possible without the help of the many people God has been bringing into my life. I may not be able to exhaust this list, but I want to specifically thank the following group of people.

  I’m grateful to my family, especially my beloved brothers and lovely sisters for being there for me through the early but daring moments of my career.

  I also thank God for raising me from a genealogy of spiritual giants and for inspiring me through the many leaders who have lit the path and set the pace for young talents like me to emerge.

  I’m equally grateful to my friends, partners, staff and all those who spend an ounce of their time and money throughout the world to promote or participate in everything I stand for.

  Finally, thank you for purchasing this book and joining millions across the world who think we can make this world a better place for all. I’m thankful to all my readers for their constructive criticism especially through social media. I’m always very excited to hear from you anytime any day.

  Back to top.



  Like a saint, I did purge

  My imagination from God

  As my heart and mind did urge

  My fingers to write on the mud

  For all to hear and glare

  At what my eyes did spy

  When my thoughts got the flare

  Of that heart-piercing cry,

  From my people, for my people;

  I did find the hands of pain

  Breaking every soul into a bleeding cripple

  And my nation’s snow face was all stained,

  And there was need for change:

  It was the gravity of that rash

  Spreading like wild fire in a wide range

  And never did I feel any crash

  From the coffins of dark democracy

  Since God was on my people’s side.

  I saw the sprinkles of democracy

  Bathing our land, new and pure for all to glide.

  And behold, the foundation stones

  For change were plunged deep and tight

  And stiff and strong were my bones

  To endure the plight of this fight.

  Before my prologue was through

  God did touch my heart again

  And indeed I felt the breakthrough

  Foundation stones falling like heavenly grain...

  Back to top.


  They look like saints

  Patriotic faces

  At all phases

  Always looking innocent

  But when elections come

  They rig

  They kill

  They steal

  They loot

  They rape

  Our country’s progress

  They look like worker ants

  Of success

  In the press

  Always looking triumphant

  But when elections come

  They rig

  They kill

  They steal

  They loot

  They rape

  Our country’s progress.

  Back to top.


  After a weighty-healthy meal,

  He trots through the streets

  Counting the ribs of hungry men;

  He covers his nostrils with cotton

  Upon entering the rotten corners

  Where the poor gamble with stench;

  He spits on shaggy-tattered beggars

  Or wounded men leaping through the market;

  He covers his ears with new banknotes

  Upon hearing crying voices across the road.

  At night, he dines with the uniform men

  Gasping the fresh scent

  Of imported perfume.

  He sings lovely carols and writes of lilies and roses.

  Back to top.


  Do you see those hungry faces

  With cracked lips and swollen eyes

  Marching in staggering paces?

  The fresh air of the sky dies

  As their feet wrestle with the dust fleet

  In the tchaka dance for their home land;

  Their tearful eyes wish to split

  As they chant at their sleeping-land

  To arise and behold its course

  Of change for the youths to dwell

  In true peace and glide at the rose

  Where all shall be well.

  Do you see those huge men resenting their breath?

  They have lost their sense of truth.

  Back to top.


  I think only of thee

  When the shadows come

  For thy aroma of stew to stare;

  When the moon mourns

  For thy drums to feast;

  When the heavens hum

  For thy rains to roll;

  When the winds wail

  For thy wings to wave

  At the snoring sea;

  When the time tolls

  For thy cocks to crow;

  And when the sun shines

  For thy ever fresh fields to feast.

  Back to top.


  You stand there,

  All alone-there

  Bleak and weak

  As your bones break

  In fading praises

/>   From dying voices

  All in the name

  Of foreign fame.

  They now savour

  Foreign flavour

  Instead of delicious, tasty

  ‘Fufu corn and Kati Kati’.

  Who lulled you to sleep?

  You must wake by my weep!

  O African sun,

  Arise from that dark horizon.

  Back to top.


  Behold, the lord appeared by her bedside

  With glowing light and asked:

  “Why do you sob

  All night long

  Trampling your pillow

  In a sea

  Of uncontrollable tears?”

  The weary-hearted African woman

  Answered and said:

  “I sob for I’ve sinned,

  I’ve insulted thy image

  (Thy magnificent image)

  By changing my colour

  From black to red.

  “O lord forgive me

  All my sins

  For they surpass the limit.

  They are a needle

  Piercing thy heart.”

  The lord’s voice echoed from a roar

  In the mist of a cloud in the sky:

  “Forgiven is he

  Who confesses his sins

  With the tongue,

  Blessed is he

  Who goes and sins no more.”

  Back to top.


  You stand there – high

  Like a king in the sky

  For thy garment suits thee so well

  And for all times, “ton nom est belle”.

  You give energy to wheat

  And serve the world with heat

  For thy elegance suits thee so well

  And for all times “tu es belle”.

  You drive scientist crazy

  And your warmth is so friendzy

  For thy smile suits thee so well

  And for all times “la vie est belle”.

  I wish to meet thee up thy bed

  But make sure I’m not death.

  Back to top.


  The back bone of African evolution

  Lies in the solar force:

  A weight that can pull down countless patriots

  They call it the president,

  Commander in chief of the armed forces,

  A gun man,

  The sole executive curator,

  Chief of chiefs,

  Secretary General of unknown affairs,

  And even financial overall of state funerals.

  Such a fatal force owned by gods

  And only gods alone.

  A force that sets cars galloping on a smooth road

  Now entrusted onto one person. What a strong drink?

  He now carries such a heavy load alone in groan

  With no shame nor regret, but greed.

  How great he is!

  Back to top.


  Your scent, touch, words and way

  Made you a true mother

  For you lived for your children.

  When I was young, your warmth

  Made me a chick in his nest:

  You petted but corrected me when I went wrong.

  I shed a tear and my heart shears

  Any time I remember your gentle smile:

  A smile that moved miles;

  Your love shoved me into joy

  Like a sinner from hell to heaven:

  I could dwell and swell when you were there.

  While others let theirs grow wild,

  You moulded me up into a perfect gentleman;

  A huge pang of flesh was cut-off from my body

  On the day the cold hands of death strangled you.

  O sweet mother! I love you more… and more

  For you taught me true love.

  I called you Naseh as you called me Tso

  For mama and son were too formal

  For such a loving pair.

  May your gentle soul rest

  In perfect peace

  Though our love’ll never rest.

  Back to top.


  Never did I have

  A say

  When you waved

  Goodbye to our stay

  (Saying it was over)

  Never did you know

  How much we’d rovered

  In the snow

  Like our son’s bear

  (Swimming in honey)

  Never did we spare

  Lavishing money

  Dancing makossa

  (Sharing smacks of love)

  But why did you say goodbye Massa

  Without thinking of our love?

  Back to top.


  We navigated on the sea of love

  Like unscrupulous pirates:

  Eye-in-eye, mouth-to-mouth

  We were

  In the little boat

  With a moonlight candle.

  Then, God saw it all illegal

  For we were in the dark

  When His light smiled;

  The lord touched our souls

  Like a wind blowing a fowl’s bottom

  And we perceived light.

  Accepting for better,

  For worse

  Was just a child’s play

  For you loved me

  As I loved you.

  Our passions became holy!

  In the morning, I saw love;

  In the afternoon, I felt love;

  In the evening, I touched love.

  How I wish to ride with you forever

  In this holy sensation of romance…

  Till death binds our souls in paradise.

  Back to top.


  Her black complexion remains her symbol of beauty

  As jolly as a real, real red rose.

  Her elegance and intelligence makes her a symbol of love

  For her soft succulent body leaves men crazy

  As she moves majestically shaking her wonderful bottom.

  Such a pretty mermaid princess!

  On her lies the fate of Africa through hard work

  Comfort, humility, honour and thus prosperity is assured.

  Modesty and prestige were bestowed onto her

  By the almighty who alone knows why she is so special.

  Such a unique creation, so perfect in appearance

  Though one can never tell the interior of all.

  O African woman! Not of any equivalence nor comparison;

  Symbol of courage and hope!

  Back to top.


  O comrades! My dear African brethren!

  Clashing claws everyday does our land drain

  Trampling good spirits in an obscure stay

  As we pull our bows of hate everyday

  Lulling low our spirits of brother-love

  In the cunning face of the foreign clove

  We do breed greedy and corrupt feelings

  Let’s no more massacre our land­’s feelings

  But stand as one to think as does the dove

  With golden hearts glowing of that pure love

  For the land on which we stay and do pray

  Is called mama Africa with her gay

  Look of hospitality and fresh grain

  O comrades! Why do we Africa drain?

  Back to top.


  I loaded my bazooka

  Sniffed for him about the air

  And went searching through the lair

  As explained by the busker

  But beheld his foot path not

  I peeped through the filled alley

  And hurried down the valley

  But beheld his foot path not

  I reckoned the Holy See

  Rocketed up the hills high

  And prayed to God in
the sky

  Looked down the glass of the sea:

  He had been right behind me

  He had been right behind me.

  Back to top.


  Let’s blend the strength of our wit

  And make our land filled with wheat

  But brew not all into wine

  For the forth coming generation to dine;

  Let’s plough not arms at ourselves

  Else we’ll destroy the shelves

  That behold the foundation stones

  Of our nation’s bones;

  Let’s strive not for today’s food

  But for tomorrow to be good;

  Let’s be as strong as the flail

  For our effort never deemed frail

  In the face of our fatherland

  When invited is the lord’s hand.

  Back to top.


  Unlike all other flowers, a fair rose she was:

  A soft, bright fairy glittering like diamond;

  She was gold in human form;

  So juicy and pretty;

  So elegant and pleasant;

  So fresh as ice cream;

  And well shaped like a Spanish guitar.

  In a rhythmic mood she moved

  For her steps came from the spheres of beauty

  In an elegantly fitting dress

  That made her bottom swirling majestically.

  Mouths were filled with saliva

  And minds fuelled with amazing lies

  As the men’s appetite was wetted

  To capture and nurture the rose’s heart.

  Some courageous men made their way

  To and fro Jerusalem with great success

  Hitting their chest to have touched gold.

  Then, regretted gravely too late like Hewett

  For the gentle medical screening

  Revealed the presence of the hawk-lion ghoul:

  HIV and AIDS.

  Beware for all that glitter is not gold!

  Back to top.


  On a smooth lawn in a garden of misery

  Wearing a cold face of nostalgia

  (Not knowing who deserved “good morning”

  Or “to hell with your dreadful policies”),

  I wandered after a fruitless prayer

  Fuelled by Igbo domination and British neglect.

  Firm, I stood and resolved to fight for liberation

  Without knowing which way to follow.

  Then of no coincidence, I tumbled on Ahidjo, my brother:

  “Hey, Foncha! Long time no see!’’

  He said confidently in a loud voice

  For he was the Godfather of la Republique.

  Grieved with joy, we ran into each other

  And resolved never to part, but to be each other’s keeper.

  Back to top.


  It’s most certain of calamities

  That our society suffers a demise of beauty with diseases

  Like corruption, unemployment and bitter poverty

  In this state of most dubious fraudulency

  Of no fair and transparent elections

  Where democracy is rode by the military

  Of unscrupulous vacuums as politicians.

  We now live in a trance of chilling panic

  Not knowing who’ll die next.

  carrots and sticks now work hand-in-glove everyday

  Instead of a true democratic government

  Where the masses: the majority

  Have a say in their stay.

  “We need a humble leader full of courage and stamina

  And not a power drunk stooge.”

  Back to top.


  What thinkest my soul

  Of this tonsured land

  Than thy palpable hand?

  Thy heart that fights the ghoul

  That scares the downtrodden;

  Removes the vulnerable’s load

  And in the old, injects fresh blood

  Taking away their huge burden.

  Thy gruelling-gruff silences hubbubs

  Bringing forth fresh olive dew

  And the dream of a land pure:

  A brightened glow over the dark suburbs.

  To suffering, thee say ‘cheerio!’

  To diseases, thee say ‘cheerio!’

  Back to top.


  Popular unique diverse scenery,

  Well adorned with beads of beauty

  Rich in nature like in culture

  Intensified are thy raids torture

  Taming down the trees of corruption

  Yawning loud like sick a nation

  And we all know thy harmony

  Nourishing all tribes with honey

  Drained in joy like in sorrow

  Pulling all to sleep as the drums bellow

  Entering the mountains up high

  And beholding the call of thy eye

  Craving across the peaceful sheep

  Ever since you lulled us to sleep.

  Back to top.


  Like all builders do know

  To be told by the old

  I behold in elbow,

  But for the young, I fold

  My tools in peace and pray

  For all the strength from God

  For my soul be not prey

  As I do step on board

  With the eyes of poetry

  Peeping through a blue pen

  That flows with the mastery

  Of the fingers that spend

  For all to prostrate straight

  For God to bless our state.

  Back to top.


  You grant power to the greatest authority

  But can trample on kings

  Through impeachment;

  Your paces can crush million lives

  With just mare traces on paper.

  Your impact in presidential decrees

  Sets the society into gallops.

  So you'll be my angel of war.

  It only suffices your rolling on paper

  For you’re a super legend.

  Everything shall somersault;

  Your scraping shall cleanse this sick society

  Infested by greed, blended by imbecility;

  The embezzlers shall feel your mortal breeze

  And even corrupt and tyrannical fellows shall bow.

  Your claw shall cut the rope

  On innocent peoples’ neck.

  Your wisdom shall then breed

  Patriotic fellows of good will

  To amend this battle to an expected end.

  Oh! My momma of everything!

  You give me reason to all

  Especially when you shoot troubles.

  With all your valour and bravado,

  Men just call you ‘pen’.

  Back to top.


  The genre that changes water to wine

  Through the spontaneous overflow

  Of emotional language groomed mathematically

  To suit its role in the society;

  A fierce bulldog unleashed

  To scare away the world's dark memoirs

  And cleanse the entire land

  By uplifting ideas of good will to eminence;

  A patterned and orderly way of life

  Where even bended trees become erect

  And withered plants freshen

  With just its manifestation.

  Patriotic poets call it:

  ‘The divine tool for an ideal society.’

  Back to top.


  If this be the thread of a love play,

  Let’s knit it tightly so fitting that the flare

  Does erupt as molten lava in display

  For all men to glare

  At the essence of love

  As the eyes o
f our heart do blend

  At the world’s narrow clove

  And the adventures of this beautiful den.

  Be not in a hurry

  To the land of straw berry

  Else you’ll never arrive

  At the mysteries of good life

  I’ll say no more of the excess

  For my words trot in the soul of my princess.

  Back to top.


  You trot in my garden

  With charms splashy-golden

  In the green flavoured range

  That never knows of change.

  Are your wonderful leaves

  From fresh dewy olives?

  Does your ever cool smile

  Travel through my sole mile?

  Why? Flowers by my grange

  See your so-sweet melange,

  O sweet lovely myrtle,

  With bleak jealous rattle.

  Yet, you remain the food

  And fuel of my manhood.

  Back to top.


  If death

  Be my breath

  For I speak the truth

  May I die a proud myth

  For all to savour the mirth

  In my strength.

  Back to top.


  ‘‘O sweet lovely fairy

  Of truth, ride me to the ferry

  That’ll put my soul aboard

  And sail countless miles to the lord.’’

  I did tell the book of life in worry

  ‘‘Behold my thoughts with wisdom

  And let them sound like a drum

  For the old and young to dance

  As their lives do trot and bounce.’’

  I did seek from God’s kingdom

  ‘‘Give me not as I wish

  But as wills the wish

  Of thy might of calm and thunder,

  O Almighty creator of wonder!’’

  And that was my last wish.

  Back to top.


  Kain: Be not to me a snare

  Nor do behold me scared;

  Nor mourn over my wife

  Gone in that unknown life.

  Nain: Baffle me not with word

  For you are my sole lord.

  Palpate not my heart’s drum

  Nor let our love a-gloom.

  Kain: My fortune is all gone

  And my household all gone:

  Why do you feel this love

  When lonely is my clove?

  Nain: Your ways of heart plunder

  Through my soul like wonder.

  I doubt if I can live

  Without you, my olive!

  Kain: If God made you the flare

  For me to love and glare

  In sorrow like in joy

  Let’s do not that destroy.

  Nain: You are now old and poor,

  Your home is dead and poor

  But love is never few

  So let’s love and feel new.

  Kain: My eyes do behold feast

  For I won’t see that beast

  Called hate in this love bay,

  Not again shall we sway.

  Back to top.


  Those who knew him

  Said he was that pure

  Genius that made life new

  Even from the sphere dim.

  Those good writers did hold

  To us all his works as great

  With no thought of regret,

  Even from those manuscripts old!

  Centuries have bowed to the ink

  Of those great, great poems

  And plays of such heroic rhymes.

  Even the men of mirth did sink!

  No one could dare spare

  Trotting through those lines

  As they were ancient sweet vines.

  Even its purity pulled the sphere!

  He was great and wrote great

  Of the great souls he knew

  But no man can boast he knew

  Even his birthday, for it needed a soul great.

  At times I wish to bid inspiration

  By calling him ‘Willy’

  But think only of a willy

  Even as he bore inspiration!

  Back to top.


  The power of God

  Dragged me from the mud,

  Pulled me from the trench

  Of sorrow, of stench

  In great days of old

  And did roar: ‘‘behold

  Of inspiration

  In every nation.

  Create for all to read’’

  And it was my bread

  In dusk like in dawn

  To write for all men.

  Writing was as sweet

  As Solomon’s wit.

  Back to top.


  The glory of life lies in great deeds

  As the backbone of love lies in beauty.

  But he who searches without finding

  Ends up finding without searching.

  After a feverish fruitless search, I tumbled on a sweet lady

  A demoiselle full of the varieties that rumble men’s hearts.

  O yes! A soft succulent fragrant rose with a heart

  As gentle as that of Jehovah God.

  A lofty speech, she possessed, full of saga

  Like a dagger that pierced open my heart

  Letting the fresh dew of love to water my mind

  Through the most nurturing manner in an irresistible smack.

  I shivered like a weaver beaten by rain and said

  “I love you… Rosybelle”

  As her hairy skin set a tickling current flow through my body

  Awaking nostalgic thoughts of love.

  Like a woodpecker on a tree’s back,

  She killed my senses with exuberant magical caresses

  And kisses sounding so loud that I felt like a bee

  In a thrilling emotion with nectar.

  Never had I gone on such a romantic ride before

  A physical and psychological sensation

  Of tremolo feelings groomed to purity

  By the ultimate power of beauty.

  Back to top.




  I quit my pillow

  When I hear that bellow

  I wonder what can bellow

  Like a young swallow

  Through my window

  Above my shadow!

  Is it the gentle rainbow?

  What romantic a mellow?

  My TV says it’s Hello!

  And that’s just a lovely bellow;

  I rush and feel the sweet hello bellow

  And in joy, I say “bravo Hello!”

  Back to top.


  A new dawn smiled-low and slow

  In her gentle pretty blue eyes

  As the power of sweet music flew

  Loud-through our love like a spice

  As the day staggered forth with fat

  Surprises twinkling my heart with joy

  As I felt like a rat in an utopia of no cat

  As free as a glittering toy.

  At the scorn of nightfall, I sobbed like a wingless fly

  Caught in the scum of the sky

  For on her bay had she gone-so rare

  Like a missing crown of an heir.

  Everyday, I wander in tears crying ‘come back Mariana’

  For love is wicked without my Madonna.

  Back to top.


  She wore a melancholic frown

  On her ever great face bath brown

  By dusty springs of dust on air.

  As beautiful as a rose she was, for the fair

  Skin became more pleasant

  In her gown that remained ever elegant.

  I must confess, she preferred

  To the bitter scum of hail

  For when it showered muggy,

  Every footpath became muddy.

  She tiptoed and shook with jittery

  Like the poor pale peasant infested by misery.

  Yet, no one could dare her beauty

  For she was the real definition of the word pretty

  Médiatisée par sa jolie démarche.

  She had the honour of a perfect match

  With the greatest prince in the universe,

  One that could own countless fortune and still invest.

  “I wish I had the beauty of seasons

  By my side to lavish this flourish season”.

  The poor pale peasant cried in his idle site

  For life without love is like suicide

  And dying for love isn’t easy, though

  It’s a sign of bravado

  Knock and it shall be opened,

  Ask and it shall be given

  The poor lover thought and dove

  To amend his faith in love and shove

  The princess’ love far fetched

  And luckily, the princess too had searched.

  Kings thought it folly

  Seeing the dame jolly

  In the poor man’s arms

  And wished it were their arms.

  It was a shame for she was dignity

  And the purity of royalty.

  But, she felt the poor man’s love

  As she had wandered all her life for mare love

  And nothing could so well blend her history

  Than love’s mystery:

  It never lets true lovers fall

  For love conquers all.

  Back to top.


  The chief priest advanced in sacred robes adorned with cowries

  And skins of lion and tiger

  Chanting and pouring libation.

  The sad crowd stood all ears:

  “Gods of our ancestors! Awake!

  Here is a cock, kolanuts and a jug of palm wine,

  Though our sacrifices are more of hearts”.

  The mouthpiece suddenly tore the ground

  With a spear, grunting and sniffing danger.

  Then, instead of breaking the alarming coldness of fear, he said:

  “Too bad!”

  Killing every native as he added,

  “Even the gods too do mourn”

  He saw a bleak-black presence of the gods:

  Gravely disappointed souls casting their faces to the ground.

  In grotesque black robes with pitchless voices;

  Sleepy and staggering bodies in despair

  As weary as dying drunkards staring with faintly eyes

  As smoke glowed from their gray hairs;

  Smudgy sweat peeled-off their faces as they spoke:

  “We treaded in the hot fire of unspeakable torture

  Enduring the heart-piercing pains of mortal sacrifices

  For the liberation of this land……. Our enemies laugh at us

  For what was denied kings is now being torn by dogs

  (Called our sons) in the streets into pieces.”

  Back to top.


  Far from being reality, but very true!

  In a famous orange arena

  Sweats dangly legs flopping gigantically

  With fighting muscles pulled to limit.

  Winding right and round

  On the gentle motion ball

  Timed by a steady defender in concentration

  Like a cat on the rat’s track.

  Winding right and round again

  Goes the stiff dancing legs

  Like a bikutsi dancer

  Caught in the thrilling sensational merengué.

  Winding left, then round and round

  With a full maitrise of the brain

  Glittering through calculating eyes.

  Then, a swift swing of passément des jambes…

  The defender goes flat to the ground

  Creeping like a baby in front of Ronaldinho.

  Ha! Ha! Ha! The crowed is relieved

  For the spectacle is just spectacular.

  Back to top.


  Once upon a time,

  Preachers stormed a street

  In a sporadic speed

  Near the maritime.

  They did preach

  To the poor

  And did pour

  Praises on to the rich.

  The poor did become poorer

  And stroke with tears

  Whilst the rich got fears

  As they grew richer.

  Was it the will of God

  For the preachers

  To grow richer and richer

  From the poor that toil in mud?

  Back to top.


  They swagger with daggers

  Testifying of the flood of human blood

  Like devoted monks in devotion

  ‘‘Do what we do, not what we say!’’

  With no name of shame, but fame

  In chest-swording with zest

  Since few people due their view

  For not only innocent people but saints die

  ‘‘Inch alla!’’ They’ll boast for alla

  ‘‘It’s a mare holy snare for snails.’’

  For sure, barren is he who stains for grain

  But brave is he whose grave comes with rain.

  The most constant range in life is change

  But when shall al-quaeda take a mall?

  Back to top.


  From the first day

  I met Jesus,

  My life changed as I fell in love

  With the memoir of his resurrection

  That drove away darkness from my life

  Bringing the fresh beauty of light

  Even to my darkest nightmare.

  Any time an obstacle came,

  I saw the hand of God

  In my life

  And was swiftly moved

  To victory;

  He rumbled my heart with joy

  By filling my soul with anointing.

  He is like a rainbow-rose

  That brings colour to my day

  Men say they have found something sweet

  In this evil world

  But I bet you, I’ve found the sweetest.

  For sure, the sweetest of the sweetest

  Is Jesus Christ.

  Far far away

  People search Christ

  Like gold

  When He’s just within

  As love.

  Try him for He’s the way of truth,

  And nothingness becomes everything in His presence.

  Go back to the top.


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