Sometimes trees’ green fingers
Stand still like reposing harbingers
Of hope and despair; they meditate
On our ignorance of them who medicate
Us when diseases burgle into our souls
Taking us unawares like April fools.
At times tree branches and leaves
Come to a halt and fold up their sleeves.
Like parentless kids, they stand still,
Holding Ozone Crisis Meetings until
God’s silent servants come and sway
Them from angle to angle, wiping away
The spells of fear that cloud our faces
Each time leaves go on leave leaving no traces
Of further existence for Man who digs
His graves whenever he murders figs—
The figs that link us to the Unseen Being
Who reveals His presence in Man’s wellbeing.
But when God’s blowing sons and daughters
Sweep across Earth, letting twigs leave their fathers,
Falling twigs and dried leaves clatter
And produce celestial music to flatter
Man while lizards play basses with tails
And flying fowls chant solos and tales.
Then Man joins this universal worship,
Going down on knees to supplicate God’s fellowship,
Feeding his doubting heart with conviction
As Christ’s promises come to completion
Revealing the active hands of a Father Invisible
Who marvels His creatures with things invincible.
When these invisible but active servants of God gather
More momentum in synergy with Sun, leaves wither,
Tree trunks go epileptic while roofs migrate
And mortal Man gets to concentrate
On these leaves and stems which go on retirement
To remind him of his own imminent retirement.
(Between Carriere and Mbankolo, Sunday 02 December 2012)