Posted in Blog

ÀRÀBÀ (A Story Poem)

In the tropical forest
Of West Africa, a tree –
Big Àràbà, where birds nest
And nestle quite securely –
In the jungle grew.
Then was a torrential rain,
With fierce storms I can’t tell
Or, where they came from, explain.
Yet the winds couldn’t it fell,
So much as they blew.

The large big thing only waved
And its wet leaves gave a clap.
The branches swayed and way paved,
So winds passed between the gaps
And dropped down the fruits.
Àràbà danced in the rain,
Unharmed by the storm’s rampage.
Yet the winds didn’t refrain.
The storm, so much as it raged,
Couldn’t it uproot.

Then came the blinding flashes
And the rumble of thunder,
Like two fighting swords’ clashes,
To part the tree asunder –
Should it not kowtow.
With a terrifying crack,
It struck the tree like a dart.
The tree smoked with fumes, thick black.
Àràbà, falling apart,
Did submit and bow.

Àràbà, colossal tree –
Now some kùkùté, a stump.
‘But come, take a close look; see –
See something interesting come
Of this felled tree out!’
So, I stopped to meditate
As this stump now sprouts again.
Hope said, ‘Hey, from fallen state,
No matter how long you’ve lain,
You too can still sprout!’

[Inspired: Job 14: 7 – 9, The Bible]

Author:

A cute duo of God inspired novelists and with other lives as lecturer and as businesswoman || Email: contact@ktolla.com

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