It arrives
with a burst of colour,
flowers popping
up here and there.
One at a
time, they brave the chill still lingering in the air,
refusing to
accept defeat and slowly growing in number,
until the
grey sky is forced to turn blue and warmer.
It is time
for spring.
In England,
the Daffodil is the first to show,
shamelessly
flaunting its golden colour.
But it is
also the first to die,
a high price
to pay for a few days of freedom.
But others
will take its place and live longer.
It is time
for spring.
In another
world, spring is Arab.
It starts
with one person who longs for freedom.
He makes the
ultimate sacrifice with his life,
And in his
place, others rise up in city squares.
They have
had enough and want a taste of freedom.
It is time
for an Arab spring.
In Zimbabwe
there is no spring.
Any flower
that blooms is plucked out of the ground,
lest others
follow and force the sky to turn blue.
More than
twenty years of winter and not a sign of spring to come.
Perhaps all
the flowers have died in the protracted darkness.
When will it
be time for spring?
13 March
2013
