Spring

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