WHERE IS FORGIVENESS?
My Lord, l'd sinned with her, and l confessed.
How can l know that she cofessed her sin?
I secured that l'd washed my dirt and gained
forgiveness but she did not wash her filth.

My Lord, l beg Your heart and kiss Your feet
to forgive her before You shrive my sins.
How can l push her into hell and l
feel content that my poor shrift is complete?

How can l think of self and forget her?
Can l attain the buoy and let her drown?
Regret can't be obtained through selfish steps.
Have pity on her first and then on me.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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ARE THEY HUMAN BEINGS?
How can life beget some souls quite void
of emotions and give them man's form
to connect their flesh for *** then split
after getting their cheap needs like beasts?

Don't they feel when they relate two hearts,
nothing can sever what they have joined?
Sweetness rules their hearts and steals their love,
without which no joy of life survives.

How can one get joined with that sweat dear,
whose flesh can give them such lovely warmth
and go, leaving their hearts fully trapped
after spending minutes both adored?
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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THE MOON WAS THE CULPRIT.
Once, l noticed that the moon was shy,
creeping slowly in the immense sky.
Looking down, l espied two young kids,
sitting in a garden quite nearby.

Love appeared the master of their lives.
They were fully silent and disturbed.
They were shy to show the thoughts they had
in the depth of hearts, but l could know.

Not far from those two young hearts l sat.
"Who had taught them love?"l asked the moon.
Summer stripped the sky of all its clouds,
and the moon, confused, shunned my request.

They were too young for such a great love.
Who could be the teacher of their hearts?
None could be accused but the shy moon
as l noticed it escaped my leer.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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LIFE WAS IN THEIR HANDS.
Once, l went to see the pool of ducks
where the flower trees were green and red.
On a bench, l saw a mid-aged man,
sitting with a woman of his age.

They were blind to what there were around.
Just they could behold their precious wealth.
Life lay docile in their shy, meek hands;
they were just aware of what was there.

They did not discern that l was near
and were quite involved in their own dreams,
but their faces could unfold that life
could be gained by such a grasp of hands.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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I FEAR REMORSE
I have a heart that can't behold a ram,
so proud of its long horns, the strength it has,
thrown on the ground giving some hopeless kicks,
slain by the hands that love the ****** mud.

May God protect me from those kinds of deeds
whose impact will assault my thoughtful mind.
They will invade my dreams and tranquil sleep
and give me sleepless nights full of regret.

My heart is not begotten to cause pain
or make a creature weep his broken heart.
I do my best to plant a smile around
to please my heart and rid me of remorse.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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WRITTEN  WORDS
Life gets ugly when those who're supposed
to reveal the truth seek their own gain.
They would aim for fame and they don't care
what the message is from what they write.

When they scrawl some words and people read,
readers are quite taken by their lines.
Published words can have such great effect
as some think that they the truth reflect.

Written words, you are a charming light
which some, like the moths, get near to die,
or you can be like the lighthouse flash
which some others use to save their lives.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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THE SOUL GETS BORED.
Soul and thought, you are the closest kin.
Both of you are free and can go far.
But the flesh can't move as fast as you,
so the soul is what can reach the sky.

Thought, you whisper to the soul to know
what can seem quite right and what is wrong.
Both of you intend to shun grave sin
whereas flesh will get indulged in vice.

Then the soul will get so bored and dull,
specially when flesh gets weak and old.
It sets out to fly to meet its God,
leaving matter to its worldly jail.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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