Light a fire upon the raging fire?
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain:
Why add more fire to fire?
Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:
(For the twig is now bent over,
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles,
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)
That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials:
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,
Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.
(c) nyonglema
Tag Archives: seed
April fool #rainySeason #spring
The seeds are losing their coats of colours varied
Within the arid earth, looking to the sky’s greyness,
And the thunder oliphanting the triumphant outburst
From bustling clouds dancing the ball of the newly married,
In the loud wind whooshing and rushing about the dry grass,
Littering with dust our squinted eyes as the first drops
Jump out to wash away the drear of the season of nix,
The season of bare land, searing heat on soil like dead brass
The seeds welcome the drops intensifying with each step
Of humans seeking shelter, or humans going helter skelter,
April’s joy filling them as they foresee their plants growing
As the death of barren land leaves for fresh green and pep.
(c) Nyonglema
waghni 