HAND OF GOD
It came at night when men lay awake in death
A voice; a language written in the night sky,
Brilliant as day light.
"Do you not feel His presence", a voice whispered, "smiling down on earth
like the rays of sunshine, warm and comforting."
The aura of His unwavering love for man
Eclipses the gray clouds of depression hovering over me.
He is everywhere: in the flapping of a butterfly's wing,
The sweet lullaby of the Mockingbird.

The crackle of fire as it devours my mother's firewood
The tinkling of droplets on corrugated iron sheets
The swooshing of wind as it strolls at even pace
Like notes from a piano
As His hands strike the chords of life.

Do you not see Him in a child's innocent smile
As he reaches for his mother's arm?
Isn't it folly to seek Him in the cold-lifeless bronze statue in churches
When He is within our reach, deep in our hearts.
Whispering to our souls, silently, with each beat of our frail heart.

His hands are not always pleasant
Like my mother's strong hands drawing maps on my sad face
Yes, it threw judgemental fire on *****'s rooftops
Complete combustion of Gomorrah's rotten flesh
Or shut the gates during pharaoh's visit to red sea's depth
But as an Iroko always traced to its roots
The hand of God is only fuelled by Love.