The Coming
By Nimah Ismail Nawwab

The young shoots spring forth,
Seeking sunshine, care and love
Will they be able to grow
Will our world take the new generation
With all its hopes,
Aspirations,
Dreams,
Concerns,
And nurture the tender shoots?

Will they be understood,
Their talents appreciated,
Their ambitions fulfilled,
Their creativity given free reign,
Their free spirits valued?

Or will they be controlled,
Belittled,
Derided,
Cut down,
Ignored,
To lay withered,
Unable to grow and bloom.

The choice is ours,
The custodians of the newcomers.

Freedom.
How her spirit
Haunts,
Hooks,
Entices us all!

Freedom,
Will the time come
For my ideas to roam
Across this vast land's deserts
Through the caverns of the Empty Quarter?

For my voice to be sent forth,
Crying out in the stillness of a quiet people,
A voice among the voiceless?

For my thoughts, that hurl around
In a never-ending spiral,
To settle
To mature, grow and flourish
In the barren wasteland of shackled minds?

Will my spirit be set free--
To soar above the undulating palm fronds?
Will my essence and heart be unfettered,
Forever
Freed,
Of man-made Thou Shall Nots?