A  PAUPER

I have no field to plant, to irrigate and chant
and wait for crops to come to dance and beat my drum.
I have no trees of fruit to sell and buy a suit;
I am a street ambler, or just a mere pauper.

No movies are for me; these are what l can't see.
I know the place from out, but l can't poke my snout.
A film for me is like a sharp and hateful spike
that causes me much harm as l am just a ***.

No social life is mine as all regard me down.
They address me with scorn as all my clothes are torn.
Still l'm  a human being and ask why l'm so mean
that coins l cannot reach as they're just for the rich.

I have no girl to see; a kiss from her to plea,
to play with her blond hair and smell her perfumed air.
I have no right to that; girls think l have no heart.
I dream of wild amour though l'm too mean and poor.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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WHO  CAN  LIVE  THERE  ?

Land of devils, you have got the taste of hell.
No one who has some good taste on you can dwell.
Forms of life with those besmirched foes are hostile.
They can dismiss with great ease the cheer of smile.

Devils are so fond of raising feuds and fights.
If they don't, they can't live days or sleep their nights.
Who would like to spend his time with such a crowd
Whose main aim is just to prove they're lout and loud?

They are known for vile misdeeds and gross deceit.
No men in all sorts of malice them compete.
They can cheat and **** weak people with great ease.
No remorse can cause them pain if laws can't cease.

Life is for whose muscles rein neighbours and kin.
He can lead them where he likes to their ruins.
They become his slaves and he annoys them all
till someone can crush his strength and him control.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH

LET'S JOIN HANDS.

People of a hateful grudge
are beheld through one we call a drudge
who has gained no outcome of avail.
That makes him so full of loudest wail.

They hate the people who can have
success in life and be so calm and suave.
They know how they can get respect from all
as they have set and reached a precious goal.

Most of us are not from either class.
Let's join hands; we may pass
gates of grudge and go straight to success.
By joined hands, we may reach God's great bliss.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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MY PHILOSOPHER AND GOD

There came a Man among the men.
He had no house; He had no den.
He had no palace and no wealth,
but he was well known for His strength.

He had great power of the soul
that could the blind and dead men heal.
He made new eyes, and gave new breath,
the Maker Who could raise from death.
But what can stun me to the heart
is His mind and His deep insight.

He told me what my nerves can cool,
my heart  and mind can make tranquil,
my conscience keep without remorse
that kills my joy or even worse.

His teachings fill my heart with joy,
and make me earthly life enjoy.
The greatest is the least of you;
Who said so with Him l will go.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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HOLY  STRENGTH

Strongest people are so glad;
they don't care when things are bad.
They look with a smiling face
what is bad they can erase.

Beware of those who are weak
who try hardest not to speak.
If they start they cannot stop.
Their shout reaches highest top.

They live under greatest strain
shackled by an iron chain.
Woe to you if that chain broke,
it would lead to such fierce stroke.

When strong, you get high by strength.
You fear none, not even death.
After success, you don't care
if your death is nigh and there.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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WHERE  IS  HEAVEN ?

Grudge, how awful you become
when you make a heart your home.
You the throne of God destroy,
source of love and greatest joy.

God makes man's heart His own throne,
where his love is fully grown,
building heaven from the flesh,
which becomes love's holy creche.

Heaven dwells inside my heart,
and endows me greatest height.
Love is kept in secure place
where the Child can lie in peace.

Highest skies, you are just void.
Heaven can't be in that world.
Heaven's where whom l adore
nestles in the depth of core.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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THE  ONLY  REMEDY

Old age with broken leg, she lies in bed.
She cannot move; her pain is mixed with dread.
She is too weak to speak. She just complains,
but no one can her nagging quite explains.

Her bed has got a prison she can't leave;
it stirs her mind to roam, her heart to grieve.
No source as vent for hope from which to get
delight that makes her anxious thoughts forget.

So nice was life when those she loved were near,
whose presence brought her joy as they were dear.
They went and left her lonely, now in bed.
How hard is life that leads her to this end?

In tears, she hears a song coming from far.
She used to hear ere time could her life mar.
She calls back that old love that fills her heart
and sets her calm as love sets all aright.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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