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

          Kum Eric Tso / History & Fiction
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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.

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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...

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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!

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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:


Beware for all that glitter is not gold!

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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.

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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.”

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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!’

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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.

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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.

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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’.

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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.’

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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 of 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.

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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.

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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.

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‘‘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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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!”

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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.

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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 hell

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.

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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.”

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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.

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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?

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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?

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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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