MY STRENGTH IS ETERNAL

My strength is eternal
They seek in vain
That seek her external
And up in failure, they gather up again

The rose of my distant being
At my door, sets him early in the morning
To my gullible heart, he promises a gift of future
While in his arms are my misery secure

Being a prey, he's become a hunter
Arming himself, he makes his dwelling a corner
That he may deliver my soul to his blade
And not from the scorching sun, a shade

But my strength is eternal
And my gift not regional
Lest my tender future is starved
And not from this tyrant, saved

They find grave
That seek to put me in cave
And on their carcasses stand
The vultures afterward descend

So my strength is eternal
They seek in vain
That seek her external
And up in failure, they gather up again

This is an awesome poem Baba! But were using 'they' to refer to strength or something my baby eyes couldn't see sir
Ayamlaykorn

Nice. Will be waiting to see just how black your pen is.

thanks man. just that you did not understand that verse of the poem...anywhere you encounter "they" it's just the pronoun the narrator uses to paint the figures of his 'hunters' in the poem not his "strength"...thanks for your observation and i appreciate your time...

yap man!.... the skin of my PEN is BLACK but its content is colour-blind..i appreciate your time, thanks

BLACKPEN:
yap man!.... the skin of my PEN is BLACK but its content is colour-blind..i appreciate your time, thanks

I heard that!. Your welcome. Would you care to do something real black?. Check out my poems: the ism and my thoughts, something along along that line.

FUTURE IS CALLING

From the palace of pleasure
Amidst the Pearle of leisure
I stir, into a hut of stones
Where I pair, feasting off a calabash of bones
But I shall hold my breath
As my redemption cometh
And shall not tarry, just in the morning
For the future is calling


I am in the dungeon of dreams
My vision hunts me to the end of the streams
Where I gulp and drown
Bruised yet not frown
But i shall hold my breath
As my redemption cometh
And shall not tarry, just in the morning
For the future is calling


Now my habitats are no treasures
And my dignity has taken seizures
Yet my lonely soul seeks a light
And shall be set free from the grip of the night
And I shall hold my breath
As my redemption cometh
And shall not tarry, just in the morning
For the future is calling

WHAT MY LOVE IS NOT

My love is not stone
In her heart is not found a thorn
She is not an obstacle
Her soul is not a tentacle

My love is not a night
Darkness is not in her sight
She is not a flirt
Lest her virtues take a flight

My love is not a graveyard
Her riches do not go vain-ward
She is not self-entry
Lest she becomes a monk in monastery

THE COLLAPSING CASTLE

The brimstone of self-detested brothers
From short-length minds of crown men
From bridled tongues of ceremonial princes
Issued
Turning the green velds of Fatherland
To a drought earth of a barren field


Now desert
The surviving trees
At three wings of the endangered field stood
Bloodily cutting away their stainless boughs
In strife against a golden Dark river
Gushing out of the ruined field


Now the minds of the crown men are gone dark
The eyes of the princes
No longer have light cast about them
The tongues of the thirsty
From the dark rivers detest
And the peales of confusion dangles
Across the tin-neck of the favoured hands

But beyond the field
The earth is moist
The wind of bounty circles
The cloud is gathering again
The ground is going to get wet again
And the grasses shall spring forth to satisfy the thirst of the withered

ON THIS ROAD, I WALK

From this rosy founts
Amidst the busy routes of life
I stir into this desolate wilderness
Alone! into dry aisle of haunting dreams

On this drought, I languish of thirst
At this barren land, I am gnawed by hunger
From long search, my eyes deemth
And my throat goeth sore from calling

Where do I go from here?
From whence beget I here?
whither wander I in this whir of confusion
And dwindle in a freezing crust of misery

The road is narrow and the sand quick
The wind is dry yet will I not dismay
For beyond this desert, I have a home
Though the land is beginning to slide

To the voice of vision, I harken
And shall not faint
Though This journey be grave
I embrace my necessary death

WHEN I SHALL GO HOME

The clock is ticking
The sun hastens down the aisle
The night is fast falling
And my bed may not await the dawn

On so many things have my hands fallen
To witness this resilient voice harkened
To fill the basket of a taskful fate
To prepare for the dawning of the night

When I shall sleep and wake no more
When my beauty shall rob the makeup of the hungry earth
And my flesh a feast to a host of aggressive worms
When I shall go home

But not now; the home is yet in the distance
The sun is just beginning to rise
The harvest is ripe but not gathered
And the field is soothe up in Labour

I shall work my field
The yard must be tended
And fruits plucked to satisfy the thirst of the yawning
Before...I go home