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Lord, look at me; see me as a seedling

solely depending on you to grow into a

tree—the blooming type. Yesterday,

the storm swayed through the east to

strangle me. My roots were

uprooted—totally. But my nostrils

indescribably find breath. Lord, check my

roots—the stems—and heal the bruises.

In my season of fruiting, make it easy;

make it plenteous. Let the true harvesters

find it satisfying sitting under its shade.

It is not good for a tree to be barren in its

season. And after the sun has flown down

to set and night beckons for rest, let me

find peace where it’s kept.

The sky is wide enough for all the stars on earth to shine.

—-unknown

Have you seen the sky and the promises it has for the

people at dawn and dusk? Gaze

Up, glean up your hope: fasten it against

every disbelief. Shake off the anger that

hung therein, too, and take my hands for a climb—hither.

Give yourself a chance to

sway above. Have you seen the sky?

The sky is even, so divisible for every man.

to take a portion. Together, we can knit a tapestry of

dreams, each thread a promise. The sky is ours to be shared.

The road to life is a repeated lane.

Repeated lane, the road to life. Life, a

repeated lane. A repeated lane: life.

I began this journey some years after my

Dad, Mama, & Big Brother began. It’s

evening, & my father is some miles

closer to the end. I, too, the sun has just

appeared for its little kindness at past one,

& I was told to attach a dream to my

feet, name it after my mandate, & run

with it like a deer. Here I am running with a

little sway of hope, the only hormone in my

sinew. Yesterday, I came across a lane in

which my grandpa went through, sketched

in a diary, a summary of his life briefly

spent.I saw how he crossed his twentieth

to the late ninetieth: the exact way the

Israelites crossed the Red Sea. I saw the

day he led Granny into motherhood to

babysit my father. I witnessed the stones

that give his feet scars while chasing his

dreams & the unexpected joy that comes

his ways.I then trace the lane backwards

to jolt on my father. He as well found love,

laughed, cried, became confused, got

wearied, possessed salvation, left some

dreams he could not possess, & on, &

on, and on. Tell me, isn’t this lane very

familiar, too? Aren’t all human being achieved in life a flower?