by Philo Ikonya
In the horizon,
an old church spire
pierces the quiet morning.
Industrial smoke rises too.
I am watching actual reflections early.
The open sky has come to meet us,
here dawn is at 9.30am.
Your nights are long,
darkness fell at 3 in the afternoon yesterday,
Something has stilled the
blackened twigs of trees
this windless Saturday morning,
they do not swing like church bells,
the snow lies quietly melting.
The temperature is one above zero,
I hope it will rise higher tomorrow.
But the sky is open and,
seeing light clouds shot with orange
I feel warm in my heart,
this silence renews me,
gives me strength.
To mock the lack of movement
a white crow, has cut a cross,
and passed to meet sparrows in a V formation,
Their message in a morning
after firecracker outburst,
is difficult to footnote below.
They have come thrice as if to say,
soon you will see,
the victory rising on an your dawn.
I raise my cup and take a gulp,
The church spire now bathes in solace
in noon light high, it is three degrees.
I know we are near, one year has ended,
another has begun, with so much color.
someone had captured, white doves in their hands;
and now their beaks break free in speech.
A long journey, begins with a desire,
when the first step is taken, there is no turning back.
We all must be free to see change, unfolding slowly in a pod.
This moment is my gift, I will move it, so it wont wilt,
Until I put it to you in golden silt, and without a doubt you will see,
It was worth every risk. The sunsrises with a promise to rise again.
Last updated July 14, 2015