JESUS BETRAYED JUDAS

And so in those days,

Many people knew not Jesus' ways,

Of speaking poetically in parables.

Judas also misconstrued the principles.

On their first tour in Africa,

Jesus asked each of the twelve,

I mean the disciples including Peter.

"Take a stone each and follow me"

James grabbed two rocks,

While Judas picked a pebble.

Everyone kept his in stock,

Judas hid it in his socks.

Southwards from Antioch,

They camped in Sudan.

When Jesus began turning everyone's stone into bread,

Judas then had his hands on his head.

Learning his first lesson in vain,

Judas tied four big stones this time to his gain,

For Jesus had commanded again,

And they sojourned to Lome.

"We must take rest for we've miles to go"

John pleaded.

"Yes, we're hungry" Judas added.

"Let's sit and rest on our stones" said Jesus.

Thus Judas took this offense to book,

Blaming Jesus for the wrong steps he took.

Thus how Jesus betrayed Judas.

Comments

WHEN I GROW UP

Now I don’t know what to think, but some day it will all be in ink. I look without seeing, am I even a human being. To me, everything exists without meaning. My language is a cry, but I only calm myself with a smile. Today I take milk, but tomorrow I will break bones. Now am wrapped in silk, but soon I will wear clothes. Hmm! They leave me in pampers, am now among toddlers. Both the young and old handle me. Love and admiration are all I can see. Sometimes how hurtful it can be, especially when bathed by the geriatric. I have no option than to accept their plea. In fact a little smile does the trick. I am now a boy but frankly, am coy. I can’t even cook but I can eat yolk. Where is all the tenderness, where is all the care? How come all this harshness, why all these snare? My ideas are not significant, as tiny as an ant. All my vocals create fun, commonly ignored with laughter. I hate this pan; maybe, I should sound louder. But my cry is an unnoticed plea When shall I be free, I wish I ...

YOUR own PEN

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.

POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

Search This Blog