BlackSoultan's Poetry Page

All poems on this page are written by BlackSoultan aka Nomda Ploomn
This page will reveal five poems, the selection of which is subject to change...

poem one
poem two
poem three
poem four
poem five
Blacksoultan's WebPage

poem one...
Sacrifice of Shyness (SOS) Suicide of Self

For an echo of the soul of you, I would die a million times…
Into eternity.
God is the only possessor of the knowledge
Of how greatly I await your view
Oh what I would do to command your glance
I would do
Because I can't…I - cant
There's nothing in this world I could do…
Nothing I could possibly possess
That could herald you to love me.
The paragon of beauty and the quintessential shyness
Are U and I….Our love is never to meet,
As its malignant fate is scribed in the cosmos
. Still I pray to believe that this time, the skies have wronged us.
See, I have seen your love.
It's engulfed in your beauty and your spirit as one entity.
That love, That beauty, that Passion is what has attracted me to you
Like the enamoring aromatic beckoning of a pheromone
Or a melodious note carried to my ears by a cherubim
The whisper…of an Angel.
For an Angel is Love…True Love.
See, the reality of love, true reality of life is what you have given me
Still I cannot love you from behind this wall of timidity…
I cannot love you from behind this wall of self-consciousness that tears down my soul
every time in the intimidation of U…
But…this shyness, this timidity, this self-conscousness is too much a part of me.
They are intertwined in every fiber of my being
Every corner of my essence.
Therefore in order to love you
I must die.
Can't you see? I must die to realize the true actualization of your incandenscence.
And for you? I'm willing to die.
I'm willing to pass away in the tremulous whirlpools of mundane sufferage
In order to live in your love for ever…
To the end of all times.

poem two...
Sentiments and delusions


It never is.

Happiness does not find the soul until the soul finds it wealth.
And the soul finds no wealth until the end if its time.
But during its time, it deludes itself in a quest for love
As a panacea for the hunger pangs of its freedom from this world.
If the quest remains unbroken,
And yet unfulfilled
Then the soul finds mere frustration.

An unfulfilled quest is to never find love
The punishment for a crime unconceivable
And sometimes a crime of innocence
And it leads to a life of contemplation
And inevitable anger at defeat

I have been on such a quest, and journeyed many times
By dictate from my soul.
I had to listen, and define what my soul was
Who I was, and where this delusion would reside 4 me.
Through tears never allowed to be there
By scarred ducts from their overuse in the past,
I come to realize that love is never to be mine by fate.
Hence half true is the realization of the end of the quest....

Therefore for those of us, whose souls are incompatible with love,
The quest for the delusion of happiness
Leads only to its demise.
And a perpetual sorrow left by unknown hands
And the unending nature of time.

poem three...

Here's another one from a few years back. I told you they were ill, right?
Circa 1/8/94

A long time ago in a mindstate far away

There lived a soul that hung from life reaching death
Closed up; packed up; ready to die one day
Was his heart as his soul was to take his last breath
But in religion, this soul found his purpose in life
And that was to live and do right by God
So the soul held on, not sure why, but he held onto life
But he still felt like a worm below the sod.
The lost spirit always hit his head on his days
While always looking back to the devastating past
Sometimes he cringed whence looking back in a craze
And wanted to abate how long his days would last
Soul man was a veteran; a veteran of a civil war
'Cause he fought himself everyday just to live
And he lost many battles but he kept on for more
But after it all was over he didn't have much to give
He was all alone. In a crowd he was alone
Yet whilst in all the company of hell he stayed
Tearing away at him piece by piece - flesh from bone
He lay down in the hell fires and he prayed,
And prayed and prayed till it hurt then he prayed some more
Seeking love and happiness and the remuneration for spiritual loyalty
To find the monotony of life, he still wished not to abhore
Himself nor love. For he cherished his Christianity
So what's the deal? He lived. He prayed. He was loyal
But his ass was burned by Satan and his throng
He wanted to curse himself and his life eternal
Because if this was life, he sho nuff didn't want it for long.

poem four...
Can I Still Love You

I don't know what I'm doing,

Watching the silhouette shell of your beauty
From behind a facade of smoke...
Of clutter and confusion, madness and frustration
And time induced apathy that breeds my timidity
Still through all this I see you
Through closed eyelids
Within the serenity, the illusory, the secrecy of nightfall
You wrap me in the arms of Venus.
In the utopia of darkness...

I scream in futile whispers on deaf ears
As I long for your hand, and it's not there
I stare into your eyes, and mine are closed
I feel your love, while love never knew me.
Loving what is gone and caring for what doesn't exist.
The painfulness of love,
The hunger of loneliness.

So here stands my pride
In rain induced puddles of humility
Crying in utter silence
My body shrouded in the coldness.
And the blunt reality of the aloneness of nightfall
Void of all love
In the stinging seclusion of darkness,
Loving you.
The cast of true beauty
And illumination of perfection
The surreal object of all my emotions
Banished into extinction, just out of reach of perception
By fate.

I don't know what I'm doing

Staring at you
Through windows of reality
Realizing that I've found you
In my last emotions of despair
Loving you but fearing myself
I have always known you.
From behind the shields of eyelids and smoke
I've desired you
You are my soul, the warmth of many years
The fruit of flaccid dreams and endless tears
Still I shudder in fear of my ignorance of Love.

Well now I know what it was I was doing.

I was on a journey; a quest dictated by God
And years since gone
I was searching in alacrity
For the secret.
For you.
My quest has come to pass
But the tension has not,
For the knowledge still remains unknown:
Do you love me?
If not, can I still love you?

poem five...

Ode to HighPostisms
Girls with real souls who ain't bold hold the most,
While some try to boast and play highpost.
See they stuck on themselves, like a schizophrenic love,
Or Nicole Simpson's blood on OJ's glove,
See it's the egotistical, simple minded who seem to be blinded
To their own undesirability.
I mean, their borderline ghetto tryin' to play bourgeoisie...
Frontin' with their fake styles,
Contacts so fake stares...
Fake personalities, fake souls
And fake hair
Tryin' to tell me keep it real?
Oh girl, don't you dare!
Yeah, I stare, but not because of the beauty of your essence,
I'm bewildered by your highpostisms and adolescence
Braggin' about voluptuosity, sexual virtuosity,
Sparkin' madd brutha's curiosity, but dang it girl,
You lost me.
Tryin' to pull the opposite sex as you flex in spandex
Hit one off, ask who's next?
Now you demand respect?
Surely you jest...
You say, "Dis that boy, he got no loot, so why bother?"
But your man ain't been paid, he got that Jeep from his father,
Now you hollow, from all that HighPostism you facin'
Big Willie-ism you chasin', messin' up your own reputation
Sexual liaisons imbrue your past, past relationships your future
As you hit bruthas off with more positions than the Karmasutra
Now how you gon' expect me to respect you or your pride
If you speak through used pudenda with ya legs gapped open wide?
It all started, trying to be higher than madd ism,
Costly price to pay for them high postisms...

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