Poetry

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In Jamaica lived my grandmother
Who stacked firewood for any weather
When all her grandchildren would gather
Her cuisines made anyone’s mouth water

Before sun its rays upon earth flashes
She removed yesterday’s ashes
While a few glowing embers she snatches
When fanned, fire flares up and firewood catches

Fire is strange, it carries out your wishes
Frying, roasting, baking or boiling your day’s dishes
Allows you to taste, lingering as you relish
An experience you’d always love to cherish

Back in Europe being a bishop I reflect
Her mundane act on my vision did deflect
Crying, ‘God’s gift in you don’t neglect’
Stir up and allow the fire to make you perfect

Paul, addressing his son Timothy so dear
As a prisoner knowing his days were near
Says, ‘fan the inherited fire and never fear;
Then faithfully obey what you from me did hear

Shout! Besides Christ, there is no other name
To none He would dare to give away His fame
He alone suffered on cross and is forever the same
While proclaiming His testimony shun all shame.’

Everyday fresh anointing of fire you need
Just as how your stomach you do feed
In the bed of your heart sow God’s seed
Then God, His children’s’ prayers would heed

Fan the fire in you bestowed from ages old
Before it dies down or starts growing cold
Bring as many as possible into Christ’s fold
Act today, His glory to behold

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