Hands raised in tender supplication,
You reach out to the clear heavens,
Drawing down the droplets of dew and rain,
You soak the dryness out of the ground
Feet rooted in firm foundation,
You stretch out to the dark depths,
Sucking up the moisture flowing down below,
You stand as sentinel between earth and sky
Beauty displayed in rugged creation,
You sustain testimony to His grace and care.
Buried beneath in pressured rigid death,
You transform in time to gems of sparkling light!
*Sorry, its been a long time since I interacted in FF. My son was sitting for his school finals, which is government conducted. It is a very stressful time as it determines his seat in the University. So I had to take a timeout!
*This week’s pic reminded me of the Apostle James’ warning about the tongue in the Bible. I was also reminded of the promise given through the Prophets Isaiah and Joel of the new tongue and language that will transform. Combined it all in this poem!
I stared at the apparition, not sure whether I was awake or dreaming. The thing prodded me to show that I was indeed wide awake. "Who are you?" I stammered in fear. "I am the book spirit that will show you a sight you will fear", it said. "Why are you visiting me? I am no Scrooge!", I responded indignantly. "I am here to show you the grave yard of books ", its bookhead nodded emphatically. "Why must I see it?" "To warn you!" "You have lost your first love. Return to your first love, us!"
He sat there at the site, silently. The countdown to the final moments had begun. Just a few more steps, then it would be gone, hidden from sight. It never gets old, though repeated every time. A host of memories walked in succession through his mind. Each event a scene that built up to the whole drama of a life and a lifetime. He added the smiley moments, subtracted the regrets and totaled the actuals. I will do better next time. He walked from the burial, resolute with hope. An old thing put to rest. A new beginning just ahead.
The Boat Mail stood silent and ready. Our ticket to the land of our forefathers was just a train journey away and freedom was just a bridge away.
We thundered over the sea, our eyes misting with memories. The crossing had been harrowing, the fear of navy patrol raging over the high winds playing mayhem of the packed open boat. We didn’t want to return to the land of our birth.
Interned in the camp at for a year, we were now leaving the island for the mainland. Across the majestic bridge was a new life, a resurrection from the dead.
The tools had a conference to settle some complaints. Brother Hammer presided.
Several suggested he should leave because he was too noisy. “If I leave, then Brother Screw must go too. You have to turn him round and round to get him to accomplish anything.” “If I leave, Brother Plane must leave too, for his work is all surface, no depth.” “Will go, if Brother Rule also withdraws. He measures folks as though he’s the only one right.” “Sure, if Brother Sandpaper does. He is always rubbing people up the wrong way.”
In walked the carpenter, put on his apron, went to his bench, and during the day used the hammer, screw, plane, ruler, sandpaper and all the other tools.
Actually, by fluke. I stopped my bike here. The wheel was wobbling. After setting it, just stood near the parapet to catch my breath. I glanced down and saw the darkness below. Thought it a likely place to investigate.
So what did you find?
I saw the ground disturbed. Closer look yielded some anomalies. I called to inform you.
You did right. Let’s see.
Sir, I dread what we may find. Can’t face them.
True. But we have to do our duty!
*This was inspired by the recent spate of child kidnapping & girl/women sexual abuse & murder in my city & country