Not joy, not pain


Not joy, not pain
Slowly, the head leads
The race

The future of mind
Is in God’s whisper
hidden away

I would not think again
Neither would heart arouse
Its face
The music from messianic hands
In display
Tis nature, they call his name

I would stand the unknown way
Threading the path to your gate
Million of years, a mile away
The figure of lives, built on the trail
Feelings or not, till the sun
Be not again


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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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