Josh Berry World

Motunrayo Emiola “I’m afraid” She said to me, holding back her tears. She was restraining that because of me : I could sense that.     Though I have been the only son who'd given her tough times : at the level of vocations, yet she took more delights in confiding in me than in my brothers.    “Nothing would happen to you, Mum” I promised.    I was girding myself with borrowed courage – the courage I didn’t have, lent it for her. I could sense the despair, sadness, the confusion of it all was overwhelming. But she didn’t seem to believe my words, she was indeed tired of staying in her house, she was afraid, yes, twas written all over her. Then, I began to think : is this how ones faith diminish? Is this how the boiling torrent of her undaunted faith cool off?     I remembered, yes, back then. When the trial was at the apex, when an evil arrow was pointed at my brother and I. Yes,my brother was dead, yes, tough I was unconscious too : I had taken two drips. He – my brother – ha

Moturayo Emiola “I’m afraid” She said to me, holding back her tears. She was restraining that because of me : I could sense that.     Though I have been the only son who'd given her tough times : at the level of vocations, yet she took more delights in confiding in me than in my brothers.    “Nothing would happen to you, Mum” I promised.    I was girding myself with borrowed courage – the courage I didn’t have, lent it for her. I could sense the despair, sadness, the confusion of it all was overwhelming. But she didn’t seem to believe my words, she was indeed tired of staying in her house, she was afraid, yes, twas written all over her. Then, I began to think : is this how ones faith diminish? Is this how the boiling torrent of her undaunted faith cool off?     I remembered, yes, back then. When the trial was at the apex, when an evil arrow was pointed at my brother and I. Yes,my brother was dead, yes, tough I was unconscious too : I had taken two drips. He – my brother – ha

"... A Poet Should learn to hide multitude of emotions within few lines : Leaving readers as archeologists..."

Plight Of Religion The motion that drives us in religion Is ignited by the fear of dungeon. Take this as the first fruit of barren truth, Or patiently read on, if you dispute:             Pick up a fashioned stone scolded by sun,             Paint it half way with sharp red that's not worn,             Commune with air till you're in India,             Then place it beneath a tree near street light. Position your Thomas opposite there, Give keen attention and see cub serve deer. Fewer minute would prompt mass foolishness, As you'll see Plato bow and give cent next.            Believe in a god that knows your mind's state,            Not one you made or for whom you dictate.     18:11:07:11:41 Josh Berry. Ancestral Pen. Plight of Religion.    

Josh Berry I'm neither Shakespeare's brother, Nor mad Sophocles' grandson. Neither am I pope's toddler, Or sibling to blind Homer. I'm just a derived equation, Driving this generation, With an old wheel - with fractions, To a new generation. Josh Berry. Ancestral pen.

But I Have Seen! If I was told the water will boil fish, I would hold the conveyer in a grip, That would fear his breath before I retreat, Dragging his wits to their territory. I would take him to the broadest Aro*, Where attention on madness is bestowed. For how would say such; are you insane? How would the torrent that gives life restrain? How would the waves that give diving pleasures Tune strange, commuting to death from leisure? But I have seen myself; How water killed. But twas annoying, absurd and betraying. Who would imagine such: What should give life, Gives death, Gives dearth, switching from Joy to strife. If I was told politicians would change, I would gift the conveyer to sea's rage.       18:11:2:13:14 Josh Berry. Ancestral pen. But I Have Seen!