A psalm of Nugwa. In prison.
… Who is He?
He is he who knows and is perceived as known, but remains unknown. The great unknown. All knowing. Knowledge personified. Perfect embodiment of all that is knowledge. Knowledge of whom saves, and the knowledge that formed existence.
Who is He?
Wisdom Himself. He is wise in his ways, and His wisdom underlines our folly. The wise understand His wisdom is beyond understanding. And they hold it sacred. The depths of such a wisdom as is too complex to comprehend, talk more of fully apprehend. His ways, so far from our ways. We ask for directions to go north, He says go south. We ask for life, he asks us to die. Wisdom, which we define as folly. For it is, in our eyes. Because we see not the full loop, the full circle which we are ignorant of. But He is that circle.
Who is He?
He is peace. He is my peace. He is the face I see when standing on the water. The face I dare not take my eyes off. For beside him it’s every reason why I would be obliterated. So I look not beside him, not left, not right, but straight, at my peace. My gaze, fixed on my peace. Fixed on my sleep on the boat. Fixed on His lazy demeanor at lazarus’ passing. Fixed on his calm. On his smile. Why? Because He controls the outcome, as much as we allow.
Who is He?
The guy we can’t question. Nah, we can’t. Lool, we can’t….
So we smile to the slaughter. Because its actually the direct route to glory. And we worship this twisted wisdom. This stupid knowledge. This delusional peace. We worship Him. Because we ultimately are too benign a specie to even attempt a Comprehension of his ways.
Who are we?
Nothing.
Dust.
But you make beautiful things out of dust….
I really wished to get deep on this writing. But the inspiration came in words I cannot pen.
Here was my attempt at translating.

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