The fire just went out in the hearth, As the pot, cold stares out the hut door. The wood burnt, yet nothing anymore Can tell the story of the flames it bore. Clean out the dust, clean it out! Our God is an awesome God who loves to see Cleanliness in everything! Clean quickly For Him to see how clean our feat Even the darkened soot mud walls Seem to cower and hide, lest one notices That they witnessed the fire, that pieces Of history reside in their crevices As webs dangle from the bamboo overhead, Darkened by that fire, slowly swaying In the windless silence of the day greying. The cold pot silently stares out the door. What pain put out the fire in the hearth? What self-glorification deceives in aspect, Forcing cleanliness, not as one would expect By seeing the ashes, picturing insects Dancing in the flames that made them Smoke rising, lighting the walls, A cacophony of color, noise, mayhem Under the metal pot enthralled. What pain put out the fire in the heart? To deny the fire once there, to deny ashes, A mark of humus in the very code of DNA, A hot pot changing the fruits of the day, Seeing God not in our earthly feats But directing our feet along His own way? What pain hides the fire from the heart? Lift the wood and live again, light a new flame Light a new flame, and touch the ash. (c) nyonglema
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