Poetry

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As I plod down the dusty streets of Africa, with a hoe in my hand to my field,
The blazing summer sun, like hell, burns my baldhead as I toil in my field,
After awhile I take refugee under a huge msasa tree, for a little rest.
The great shadow of the tree cools mine high body temperature and I get refreshed.
There thoughts about my lovely God haunt me and I begin to get contented.

I look at my black skin with confidence and a smile melts on mine wrinkled face.
Oh! How great God is, he didn’t allow my soul to be blackened like my skin.
At least the merciful blood of Jesus washed mine soul to be as white as snow,
Mine sins were forgiven completely on the cross at Golgotha, the place of skulls.
These thoughts pour into me some great strength and I shout, ‘Glory to Jehovah!’

I think of my toil in the field as the sun drives away my shade to scorch me again.
I look at myself, clad in tattered overalls and a wave of a smile flow on my face.
Though with nothing tangible desirable and admirable on me,
At least I have Jesus in my heart; who loves and cares for me; and that’s great!!
Jesus loved me the way I am, and I’m proud of it, what an honour?

I stand up with much confidence and take my hoe to work the soil again.
The Holy Scriptures dives straight into the pool of my mind, and I smile.
Though I might be a nothing physically, I’m a something by the grace of God
O, thank you Jesus Christ for making me worth in your eyes.
What a lovely someone Jesus is, to make a nothing into a something?


©September 30, 2005 (by Stephen kaptain)

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