a prophet is born

when my mind refuses to accept

absolute power in a single person
like a Constantine collecting church
and chisel a creed to control the masses

or persons amassing together to present
pretentious democracy promoting untruth
and crazy inefficiency my heart and soul
join to protest without weighing my cost

or visualizing gain in heaven, letting loose

poetry giving birth also to a prophet in line
of Moses, Amos, Ezekiel, Isaiah, Jeremiah
John, and last but not least, Jesus of Nazareth

© henry victor           20.05.2002

John the Baptist

 

John the Baptist grabbed no chair to sit

nor pleased any powers or towers of his times

he was simply a voice from the desert

the strongest reed of the prairie crust

John was the music of vales and hills

and cherished not the herds of cowards

he danced not to beats of country drums

nor cared for the civilized city thumbs

John was a sensitive stethoscope

listening to heart beats of the divine

dancing in the spirits of the poor

resizing, re-leveling hill with valley

© henry victor     02.04.2003

a vision for my mission

i am like a chameleon constantly checking

the very strength of my post i occupy

doubting deliberately as doubting Thomas

until i am absolutely sure i can never be sure

to settle like a barn owl in my barn house

poised within despite scores of unsettled pressures

content with picking to eat rodents that destroy

life so precious while rest of the world slumbers

© henry victor 29.08.2003

 

dew of quietness

disquiet within me rises like larva

creeping on my limbs
and other times like lava
from Vesuvian volcano filling fertile fields!

it is nothing but this absolute disquiet

that you from the moment of my youth
have given me in that prophetic path
you have chosen to drive me!

i have lost all my hope in getting out

of this persistent mire, the unending karmic fire
the end, that final consummation
in you is what i now seek!

i pray you drop that dew of quietness

a little water, only grace i now look up to
or consume me quickly in the fire of crematorium
for that final cleansing of my soul to rise into you!
 
© henry victor