The Rain Storm Poem by Eric Zinbabora Batung
The Rain Storm
The storm came and with it came the rain.
Our bodies were targeted for the bashing of the storm.
The whipping of the rain was upon our heads, our faces,
Our shoulders, our backs and our feet.
When the storm was over, stock was taken.
We were counted among the loss.
Yet, just when the memory of us was being filed
At the back of their minds for future reference,
We rose upon our feet, to their greatest despair.
Standing tall and towering high into the skies;
Stronger, stouter and tougher we had become.
When the rain was done pouring upon us,
It drained to the ground beneath our feet.
With the sprouting vegetation,
We rose anew, greener, bigger and better.
Among them and in the full glare of their drooping faces,
We flourished.
Then they asked what our secret was.
Our response was brief but enduring.
"The hand that made us and keeps us
Is mightier than that which strikes us"
Yet, there again, another storm rises in fury, but the end too well we know.
While playing all of that in my mind and perhaps in my heart, a thought struck me; that in today's fast paced world where everyone was in this mad race of trying to grab for himself, people didn't care about who they hurt or what they do to make gains for themselves.
People are too busy pursuing their own dreams that no one has time to encourage another or lift up a fallen brother. Thus each one of us; weak or strong must learn to lift himself up or get trampled upon.
It was then that the words of this poem started pouring into my mind and swirling up in my heart in jumbled form.I started putting them together to make meaning enough to lift me above all that was taking place around me.
NOTES:
When men orchestrate evil against their brothers, they are confident that their plots would work out well to the eventual destruction of their fellow. They set traps with baits and go back to their homes with high hopes that their brothers would not escape their evil ploy. While they rely upon the accuracy of their plots and the sharpness of their traps and so go to sleep, God takes his children by the hand and leads them through the storms and the rains to safety. Blinded by their insatiable appetite for evil, they refuse to learn from their former failures. But guided by the superior power and wisdom of God, the stones hurled become building blocks, the storms become motivation and the rains make us flourish. All that they intend for the destruction of their brothers rather turn bitter in their own mouths as their brothers flourish still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:12:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
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