I remember the mountains of Africa where I use to seek my God in prayer, my face to the ground and my knees on the sharp rocks.

I swore I heard his voice in Jerusalem as I walked the streets of the old city, my heart open and my faith as big as the love I felt for Him.

In London, I felt Him guiding me along a very narrow line, my hope the flame that guided me when darkness wanted to overwhelm me.

In the Great Southland with its emerald city I looked for His people to be my new home, my kindness and generosity the treasure I bring.

The treasure spent the only voice I hear echoing in my hollow heart is my own, my god my creation is no more and his silence absolute.

I’ll pray a prayer to me. I’ll listen to my voice guiding me along the wide and winding road, my strength and generosity my hope my love for me.

Published by Yaku Potgieter

Live Simply

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