by Philo Ikonya
At first I thought the sun would never come,
but it left the cloud above, now pale blue,
and came down touching buildings.
Not minding mincing icy ways,
I do not know why it had avoided the church spire,
perhaps it was too high to inspire.
We saw long clothes, we failed to see him.
Watching his youthful eyes and eagerness,
we missed the dashing spark in his iris,
the cold that said he was looking for recognition,
dying to be hugged on earth and in heaven.
We did not see his brain was a computer,
longing to be touched and loved in service,
force of creativity new barriers breaking,
the violent light of a bomb awakens us.
But the light of the sun,
has kissed everything lower,
flower seeds stir a little,
the walls of our flats where faith should be,
begin to warm up.
The black lamp hanging on your balcony,
the white crow again as the sparrow flies,
returning in a group to do three journeys,
to the power of three so many victories.
Soon I will see the ground warm up.
For the sun rays have hit the ground.
Soon, I will see the flowers hold up again.
And the song of hope will go on forever.
Soon, I will see the mist rise again,
and even if it be deep winter on sudden night,
I will take off my shoes,
and bring him home to warmth.
Oslo, St. Hanshaugen, 1.01.2011
Last updated July 14, 2015