With candle in my room, NID 08/08/07
It’s a side view of palm…. yes a hand raised up. Look again.
It’s the bust of a man with his hand raised above the shoulder…
Yes a freedom fighter.
I often wonder what made them so different from us…
That the love of soil overpowered the fear of death!
Well there is a Flintstone in us,
And there is a hand of time that holds the other--
Out of our usual way, just near the bend--
Very willingly holding out to collide…
But a child when learns to draw the first line on a sheet
Also learns to draw the must track of his life.
And as he grows he trails…follows and walks.
While time holds its hand out just away from track,
Eagerly waiting to bang.
A passer by once passed that way, shy , timid and calm,
And it was time that quarreled for power--
As they fought their sweat did fall on track,
And washed the trail alas!
The walker stopped, looked and sat;
Howled,---- screamed as mad!
Rushed here, rushed there---
And yes he did burn.
Enlightened was the dark….!
And voices said from far….
"Is there a soul to spark?"
Our tracks are lost in sand--
“Here I am”
Said the fiery man.
He stood across the mighty path
And held out his hand.