Abyssinia Beloved
Abyssinia, the horn of Africa. I hold my life in a bowl. The rice of today sits fluffy and white as the foam of the sea. The rice maybe my only food for today so, I wait to midday to consume my food. The bowl then becomes useful for coin. My parents departed when I was an infant and I became an orphan to the motherland. I refuse to beg for coin so, I sing the songs of the faithful. I chant the names of the most-high and praise humanity's beloved. When the sun seeps into the bowl of the sea I rest under a nursing tree that my parents planted when they had married. I cup my praying hands into a bowl and speak. ‘I am grateful for my voice, my tree and my bowl. May the joy of life always keep my bowl full of passion and love.’
