THEY CAN'T SWERVE.
Everyone sees on his way in life
buckets full of liquids, some are sweet.
Some are bitter like the hateful spite.
Man can choose what his free soul will fit.

Some have met great failure in their life,
and have got a mind so full of pride.
Sweetness seems too soft to gratify
all the grudges which with them abide.

Poor are they; l wonder how they can
tolerate the bitterness they live.
They make people hate their face and tongue,
but their spiteful way they never swerve.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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TOO LATE
My dear father, where are you ?
You are so far from my view.
Life has taken you so far.
Only God knows where you are.

Love of old comes back to me,
stirring chagrin mixed with glee
when l recall your past days
and your love with its soft rays.

Man can meet great men on earth
who enhance his love and mirth,
but their value he can't ken
till their faces get unseen.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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THE NEWS I WAIT FOR
Homing pigeons, fly so fast.
What you hold l want to see.
Don't let languor delay you.
What you have will delight me.

I've been sitting on hot flames
with a heart afraid of time,
while time flies and does not care
for what my heart starts to mime.

Please, kind pigeons, bring that news.
Don't say,"None to me is sent."
Life won't show its smiling lips
if you don't arrive with it.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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A VOICE FROM THE PAST
A beggar sat beside a church.
A baby slept on her thin arm.
A lullaby she sang to him;
it conveyed me such profound charm.

I stood so near but looked away.
I was all ears to her soft voice.
Hot tears welled from my blushing eyes,
but her song made my heart rejoice.

It was the song my mother'd sung
when she kept us under her wing.
I missed that voice that brought us sleep
with that soft tune she used to sing.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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HATRED AND LOVE
What will their grudges offer them
except an ulcer in their gut
and make all people shun their way
as it brings them a hateful sight ?

How hateful it's to meet a man
whose purpose is to control you.
He has a trauma whose main cure
is to annoy all he can view.

The skyline is so sweet at dawn ;
the sun is mild ; its rays are warm.
Where are those people of such hearts
whose presence calms your raging storm ?
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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CHRISTMAS
The earth is doomed by what we call an end,
and so is man, who moves towards his tomb.
Man lives in search for knowledge and intent.
The holy Child is born to make them known.

The Lord, Who makes the world, wants us to ken
Who is the Lord, Whose words all men obey.
He comes to earth, a Child in that poor crib:
a Child in form but in His soul the Lord.

He comes to die so soon to show that death
for Him is nothing as His soul's alive
and even in His flesh He shines again
to reassure all men of their grand end.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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THE FRUITFUL TRUTH
Where is the truth all fruitful minds will seek
and they feel glad when its white cloud prevails
to fill the sky with what can supply land
to quench its thirst and give what fruit entails ?

Where is the truth that expels gloomy clouds
whose vapour comes from minds of selfish aims ?
It brings their lofty lands all what they need,
but houses of low lands it harms and maims.

I love the truth that can suit you and me
and brings you laughter ere the smile l get.
Then your high land with mine will have their fruit,
and we both have the great life we expect.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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