Mo kopanele

Privileged to get another portion of this sacred daily bread,
I know not to dwell on worldly attachments.
I carry the rock I nestle my head on
as I march on to Haran.

Goodness and mercy keep me company;
surely they shall follow me to the end of our pilgrimage.
Marching through in Autumn,
expecting flowers soon, with bees after.

Pivoting away from lovers not of my rib,
survived Winter - following the compass of my heart.
Grateful for my critical thinking,
as many follow the map of their palms.

Constantly reminding myself of the concept of abundance,
we journey to green pastures and quiet waters,
where ethereal restoration awaits.

Mathew’s Counsel

 For what shall it profit a man, should he gain the world and lose his own soul?

We seek counsel from the men who hail from the east of Jerusalem.
We are the 14th generation.
Guide us away from the fate that Herod seeks for us.

Father Abraham had many sons; many sons had Father Abraham.
I am one of them, and so are you.
Showcase it through manifesting the instructions that John bears.

Born in the wilderness, set to be tempted by the devil,
Steadfast we remain as stone is turned into bread to replenish us.
We are warned to not repeat the acts of Icarus—thou shall not fly too close to the sun.

Those who have lived in and witnessed darkness shall come to appreciate light,
As those in light set contrast for different circumstances.
Signals that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.
Mind your priorities: study and understand these doctrines and truths.

Those who are cleansed have the responsibility to bear testimony;
Weeping and gnashing of teeth should follow.
Followers shall be rewarded with a place to rest their heads.
The winds and sea are submissive and know this fate.

Knowing is better than believing.
Multiply thyself by twelve and be the change you want to see.
Be sheep that do not cower in the presence of wolves,
And note that good deeds don’t go unpunished.

To be as valuable as a flock of sparrows is your destiny.
Purpose is better than progress.
You look with your eyes; therefore, you are blind.
The Lord, as your Optometrist, has prescribed faith and hope for impaired vision.

Through these spectacles you shall witness miracles.
You are blessed to keep what you have in steadfastness,
And doomed to lose it all through disobedience.
His yoke is easy, for His burden is light.

Father, stretch My hand, for I too seek wholeness.
The tree is known by the fruit it bears.
Condemnation or deliverance—which shall it be?
You are due to know after three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.

Go forth and acquire knowledge to avoid being addressed in parables.
Bear in mind, logic is a flawed system of understanding.
You are born inquisitive, and that is your gift.
Explore it—sow yourself into good ground.

Omnipotent and Omniscient, You have every tool at Your disposal.
Weapons will be formed, but because You are rooted, they shall not prosper.
Gather both the tares and the wheat.
Prepare the wheat for the barn and burn the tares.

Through faith and loyalty toward the Teacher and His teachings,
You shall have abundance even in deserted places.
Through Your spectacles, You’ll see that five loaves and two fish
Can indeed feed five thousand men.

Be of good cheer and cast away fear, and You shall walk on water.
A mere touch of the hem shall restore You.
However, be mindful of words, for they may defile You,
And through the core of all Your decisions, practice sacredness.

The triads of reality.

Where two truths can co-exist,

Three truths hold the threads of reality together… 

Woven into one another to create balance.

The Father, 

The Son,

The Holy Spirit 

Alpha,

Paròn,

Omega

The meditator;

Artist and

Warrior trying to find his way 

Birth, elusive and ineffable;

Life, perceived as perpetuity and

Death the epitome of conviction - seemingly rash and final

Past,

Present and

Future

Mind,

Body and

Soul

The meditator,

Artist and

Warrior trying to find his way 

One God;

Two joining to form a union.

Everything is three

Don’t forget about me

A week out from my scheduled healing,
kneeling by the edge of the ocean.
Did somebody really say it saves lives?
The secret is I actually feel misaligned…

Not to my purpose, but to my essence.
“Missing somebody, dancing daylight”,
basking in the light, hoping my ugly would pass away.
This is the eulogy.

“All I am is everything and nothing at all.
All I am is a shoulder for your heart to lean on.
All I am is love.”

Energy cannot be destroyed nor created.
The goal is to find free flow—
for it to move efficiently from one form to another.
Whatever that means…

“I know everyone goes someday.
I know my body's fragile,
know it's made from clay.
But if I have to go,
I pray my soul is still eternal—
and my mama don't forget about me.”

Going nowhere fast.

Slow dancing in a burning house 

We don’t want to go anywhere.
I’ll wear the burns as badges,
Level up my rank to five-star general.

The hottest love is usually doomed for the coldest end —
Hasty on a hairpin bend road,
Doomed to be reduced to ashes,
Convincing ourselves, in union, we’re a phoenix.

I’m going to need you to wake up, love.
We’re way past the breaking point.
Fun could only overcompensate for intention and direction for so long…

Attached to compulsion,
We led each other nowhere fast.
Overstayed my welcome, but still renewed the lease.

Misaligning yearning

I’ve spent the past few days lost in thought, searching for the right way to pen this apology. Pardon me—deeply and sincerely… This has consumed me more than the idea of writing my own eulogy. That’s how much it’s consumed me. The weight of it is unshakable, lingering like a shadow I can’t escape.

It is unjustifiable—to involve others in the fallout of my misaligned heart. More often than not, my intentions are noble. But lately, I’ve found myself estranged from them. I’ve found myself in instances where I unconsciously trust the process less and given in more—to my flesh, to my fears, to the comfort of temporary relief.

I have solicited substitutes, knowing deep down they were never the missing piece. And still, I lingered in those spaces, not out of love, but out of longing. Longing for what I truly believe is meant for me, but growing impatient with the pace at which that alignment manifests. 

I know what completes my puzzle. But because that piece hasn’t fallen into place soon enough, I grow restless—frustrated. And in that unrest, I’ve disturbed not just my own peace, but the peace of others. 

There are no intentions I can claim here—because they didn’t exist. Just quick fixes, empty placeholders, and a sobering clarity that is often delayed. I am deeply disheartened by the number of casualties because of my uncentered ways. To those I misled, even unintentionally—I see it now. And I carry the weight of that with me.

Mufunwa

I cannot be comprehended without my permission, her aura whispers—
To which my yearning soul murmurs, “...Something lost behind the ranges. Lost and waiting for you.”

As we exchange soft gazes mid-conversation,
A rally that rivals that of Simone Frediani and Daniele Pecci—
Smiles, chuckles, and everything in between.

My mind wishes to be pardoned for its presumed eagerness in each exchange;
Her empathetic nature allows it in amusement,
To which my soul once more references a relatable line from one of my favorite poems:
“I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.”

Though I may no longer hold my breath for follow-up encounters,
Still, they remain dear to me.

Oh, how feels feel…

Oh, how feels feel—
I could melt to touch.
Cold turkey for a feeling unfamiliar,
A radical switch from straight edge to fiend.
I hope you look both ways
When you cross my mind.

Oh, how feels fill the room—
I could melt to touch.
Finally acquainted…
If these walls could talk,
Familiar and intertwined—
I hope you never vacate your residence.

I offer you title deeds:
Real estate in my heart and mind.
Attached is a vocation—
Oh, to be elated by more than just the thought

Of you being mine.

The council of being.

The mind drifts—
a raft on a restless tide.
Constantly pensive, yearning wonder.
Bombard me not; I’ve grown tired
of your siege. You duel with the heart
as though it’s a traitor to the council.

The heart snaps back:
You crown yourself a tyrant of logic,
yet build your kingdom on quicksand—
why chain me for trembling at the storm?
I am no traitor. I am the anchor
you keep dragging through the shallows.

The soul, slow as sediment:
You call me obsolete
when I name the undertow—
this council of breath and bone
was never yours to throne.
What is a tide without the moon’s pull?
A king without his chorus?

Absolute power, it murmurs,
corrodes like salt—
you etch your decrees in protocol,
yet we are currents
meant to merge, not conquer.

The mind unravels:
I did not choose this helm—
this map of a deepening void.
Each choice cracks like thin ice
beneath our feet.
Forgive the fractures.
I too drown in the wake
of what I’m tasked to navigate.

Hedonism’s tide drowns me, he claims—
stranded in the spin of pleasure, pain, panic.
I seek transcendence…
I seek the marrow of rest.
I seek transcendence…
unshackle me from this wave’s crest.

The heart hums:
Then sink into me.
Beneath your riptide of thought,
I am the kelp—
not drowning, but swaying,
not fleeing, but rooting.

The soul sighs:
Root here.
Even monarchs kneel
to the earth they stand on.

The mind, softer now:
I commend your light—
heart, your compass; soul, your tide.
Let the council’s chorus
chart this abyss.
Alone, I am only
a star
begging the night
not to swallow its spark.