TRUE LIES

I am death without its sting

Life without purpose

I am doubt; a trustworthy friend

An angel without wings;

A soul thriving without substance

I am meaning without definition

As rational as the urgency to kill

I am sadness, a savoury stew,

A drunken soul of honour and wisdom

I am proud being nothing,

A lover of disgrace

My words are sinless and

As pure as the thoughts of man

I am a humble peacock

A generous miser;

I am sin without consequence,

Immorality without disrepute,

A virtuous one towering above saints,

A forbidden stone embedded in Mecca,

A treasure laid in the Valley of the Kings.

I am the author of tomorrow’s plans

Blessed by the ichor of gods.

I am justified insanity,

A weightless freight of determination,

Tar, the cleanser,

Vinegar - the tender balm.

I am confusion, the usher of understanding,

I am as warm as rain

And as soft as hail.

I am war the peacemaker,

The harbinger of bittersweet memories,

I am a contented glutton,

A petty thief,

A docile predator,

And a compassionate murderer

I am who I’m not

The product of who you wish me to be

A mass of illusions…

So if you know you better than I do not know me,

Claim superiority and tell me

Who and what I really am.

© 2002 – 2008 Chinye Billeter

SILENT VOWS

On the greyest landscape of your mind

Is where you will discover a haven

Haunted and hushed by fearful beliefs.

In the most tranquil chamber of your heart

Is where you will perceive a voice

That calls to sincerity and exalts a humble soul.

In valleys and on hills moulded by dreams

Is where you will unlock the secrets to imagination,

And a faith that brings dust to life.

If man were born a hero,

He would plough metaphysical terrains

With each day that sweeps open the vestibule of time,

He would exalt his strengths above those fears

Forever holding unbelievers captive

If you are a firm believer in worlds yet to be shelled

And pinnacles unspoiled

You will direct your staff at the skies,

Trace the shadows of dusk

And dance with the molten shades of lunar ballads.

If we all were birds of hope

We would soar above our tears,

Recite our regrets till we rejoice,

Look upon the waters’ radiant reflections

And chant uphill.

If we were people of wisdom,

We would cast not a glance but a meditative gaze

Upon the presence of the moment

And with patience walk into tomorrow,

Alongside the call of emancipation

The portal for ethereal voyages

  © 2003 – 2008 Chinye Billeter

AMEN

There’s a place where rare seasons of joy will become

Melodious ejaculations of the moment,

There’ll come a time

When love will be greater than words can exemplify,

A proclamation of pleasurable sacrifice,

A determinant of eternal prosperity;

I know there are souls who journey beyond the cosmos

On behalf of those too burdened to fly,

Too limited to even try,

I know there are corners of this planet still of pristine character

Undefiled by marauders subliminally searching for the apocalyptic number.

I know there are children

Destined to capture this world with such innocence

As the descent of dew on a serene morn,

I know floods will blow past

Revealing a vicious demand for purpose.

I know we will explore, discovering that which yields

The acceptance or denial of truth;

I know that we are in part sublunary creatures

Machinated by celestial fires for the purpose of good,

Yet our sins, seemingly murky waters

Extinguish those heavenly chandeliers

Each time we pray and curse with one tongue.

I know death lurks nearby,

I feel it whenever my gates are open

And sleep succeeds in whisking me away

Without a whisper of gratitude in God’s name

I know we are very uncertain of the end,

We are petrified preachers perpetually immersed in conflict,

We are an undulating generation of contradictions,

Muffled choristers of indiscriminate desires.

Yet I know we will be pardoned for being ourselves,

We, predatory shadows, victims of circumstance,

Demoralising the already demoralised without trepidation of the descent of a higher hand.

I know we will vocalise our confessions as one or individual people,

We will writhe and pant after redemption and righteousness,

Hearken unto the sound of vesper-bells

Like true men of the cloth,

Hold hands with serfs; all acts of segregation dispelled,

Celebrate our negritude and fortitude,

Paint with the palates that nature spews

And steady the existing ethos by leadership of a prescient race,

A rainbow of diverse cultures

Chosen to silence the cataclysmic epoch

Of individual and global avarice

© 2003-2008 Chinye Billeter