Like sap oozing through the strictures
Of green offshoots to burgeon here and there
Into flower, foliage or Fruit,
Wild fire sweeps through crannies of the jungle
To quench thirst of a richly textured
Soil crying for cleansing every once in a while.
Long before the daises are pushed up
Let there be shuddering and cleansing
For a daisy is a daisy for but half a day
Fire is then a mere footnote
In the dog-eared records
Of some long-gone socio-sylvan historian
Ali H. Raddaoui
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