When.lightning strikes
and starts a fire
There’s no excuse
To look away

The blaze pushes
Smoke
I cannot breathe
Eyes melt in to tears

Guided by a wild spirit
Freedom
I listen to the breeze
And the rustle of the trees

Beyond the sound of traffic
The winds talk with me.
They roar
From a far away hollow

At the centre
Speaks a voice
Without language…… ………………………….. ……. The words are born in me.

They trickle and gush
Tumble and crash
A mess in my handwriting
Disgrace on my screen.

I take a step back.

My skin alert
Cold seeping in
I shrug, it persists ……………………………………. Reaching for my bones.

My body doesn’t give in
But relaxes.
Dare rises
And meets calm.

I am sealed like a container
A wind approaches from the east
Feels me left to right
Cannot circle to take.

It spreads out
blows in my face
Pollen. …………. …. …………………………………………… Honey.

What greater gift of image
The healing balm of every crown
The craft of tiny musical creatures
Beloved bees.

In England we fight to preserve them
Save them from extinction.
Far back in my African land
The bees fly like particles of sand.

Its the people that fall to the earth
Spreading blood – why?
Is it to cultivate diamonds?
Nobody asks, all is quiet.

To speak of the bees would cause a riot.
There is no lightening, no fire,
No hardwired solid desire
Tuned into the dynamics of culture

Worse still in policies of serious nature
To spill for a fill of the same greed
But to stop it, must name the name
That can open dialogue.

For the truth be known .
What truth thou might ask
Intelligently.
A beginning unfolds with curiousity

Always heading to yet another ending
To complete the circle.
Eterinity, Zelalemawi, in the heart of everyone. Why not keep it open?