THE RAINS OF LIFE
Africa. Womb of mankind. Creator
of concious life -
Precious life. Amazing! Beautiful! Inspiring!.
What priceless gift is this that we posess?
To think, to experience, to feel? A true gift...
My spirit, like the arid African
Not really alive, not quite dead.
Existing... hoping... waiting for the rains of life to come
So that it may flourish, however briefly
until the next drop of mana arrives.
The plateu of emotion:
Wide, endless... Flat.
Broken only by the occasional tall tree or,
more often, by gulleys eroded by the rivers of mana unclaimed -
the ground too parched to drink readily when offered.
All too often the inspiration
of dreams arrive,
like great thunderheads rolling across the open plains;
Possessing such immesureable power and potential for change and greatness
But... ultimately... impotent.
Yielding only the sparks and noise of potential unrealized.
No rains of life.