February, 2021
The season of rot has come again.
The street dogs howl in heat, calling for
courage to flee. The trucks patrol
the streets, stone-faced men in military fatigues.
The season of rot has come again.
Ripe plums on banana leaves
sunning their flesh and drying their seeds.
Soon, the counting of deeds will begin
between the walls of this nation.
How dark is our night?
How red is our courage?
How bright is our Freedom?
The season of rot has come again.
At dawn, we walk the streets, unfatigued.
At dusk, pots and pans bellow and sing
their songs echoed across the seas.
Soon, the season of bloom will begin.
Courage springs from rot & decay;
No one season perpetuates —
Seeds sprout, roots cheer, shoots soar, buds pray
petals display
as sure as our rich soil, our hot sun, our cool rain.
Soon, in the season of bloom
we will fly high like birds in the sky
untethered and free.
