Rasta Israel Uda


Open Doors


Bent on the edge, revived on the inside;
reason can be computed, Lord's blessings is infinite.
Under the darkness of delusion, just wake up and breath high.
In my subconscious mind, I checkmate to rewind;
foolproof, getting in the flow, I scroll,
in timeless processor, soon to be predecessor,
admonish your successor, to shy away from the ways
and means of the oppressor, and reach for the open doors.

Went down memory lane, am gonna share mine;
without headway, we aim to find easy way to same end;
back to base, rundown, underestimated, I contemplated, meditated.
We seek admiration, and put too much concentration;
seeking affirmation, from folks who expect stagnation;
never go extra mile to impress naysayers;
cause when you become depress, they will jest on express;
If you digress in distress; push on,
live for God, and not for the world,
and reach for the open doors.

To dine and wine under their vine;
they make you an offer, thinking you won't refuse;
recycled;
I no longer conform, cause I was transformed;
Now I reach for the open doors.

Submitted: Saturday, November 23, 2013
Edited: Saturday, May 17, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Spiritual Awakening

Comments about this poem (Open Doors by Rasta Israel Uda )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Sir Walter Scott

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather Grigalach!

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]