የክርስቶስ መዐዛ The Aroma of Christ

By Solomon Belete Haile (A sequel to ‘My Flower’) A wrong perception of the world, Arising from an upended mind, Produced an elegy derided; A clay spoke up to the potter, Deducing from the actions of its master,  Sound off a lengthy lecture, Screeds polemic insincere;  The molded slandered the molder, Unbeknownst to its fare, Harangued balderdash of despair; A worm confronts a farmer, Insisting for an answer, what a fool it was to utter, Hasty words of despair, laying blame on the Gardner, Said: ‘what have you done to my flower?’ ‘Leave her alone, come on gardener,’ I am the clay, the miserable worm, A doleful creature in a conundrum; Has the potter no right over the clay, To do what he pleases nay my cry?  Who am I to utter those words, Seemingly true but nescience, Against the author of life and death, Who am I to exclaim, A nonsensical voice in humdrum;  As if all along that flower was mine, Misplacing ownership which was thine; Thank God for my second thought, I goggled at the appa

My Flower    ' የኔ አበባ '   By Solomon Belete Haile I heard the birds singing, Robin, chickadee, and starling, In the fresh air of spring, It was my flower's time too, To flourish and blossom, Under the blue, bright sky's bosom, Beneath a cheerful moon, A canopy of bright stars, Swelling surf and new grass. Alas, my flower, She'd been through rough weather, The wind, the chill, the stormy winter, Leave her alone, come on gardener, It is spring, let her prosper. The gardener planted a flower, Atop Ethiopia's highland 'Wollo meder', Adorned her with beauty and glamour, Nurtured her with aroma and savor. She was gentle, yet strong, Swayed in the wind but never broke, Blossomed for a spell but not for long. Her tall stemmed stature, Flamingo akin splendor, Transplanted up yonder, By the swift action of the gardener. Oh, benevolent, caring gardener, What have you done with my flower? If