The Season of No Answers

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The Season of No Answers

I knelt beneath a weary sky,

And cast my prayers like seeds;

I watched them fade where swallows fly,

Above the fields and reeds.

The days grew old, the nights grew long,

No whisper crossed the air;

I searched for proof that I belonged

To Someone listening there.

The winter came with silent feet

And settled in my chest;

The wind rehearsed its cold retreat

Through branches long undressed.

The rivers froze beneath the moon,

The gardens ceased to bloom;

Each promise seemed to come too soon

And vanish into gloom.

I asked if Heaven knew my name,

Or heard my trembling voice;

If faith was merely hope aflame,

Too fragile for its choice.

Yet still I bowed my head to pray,

Though words had lost their wings;

And still I walked the narrow way

Through long unyielding springs.

For deep beneath the hardened ground,

Beyond what eyes could see,

The roots were drinking where no sound

Could tell their mystery.

Then one pale dawn the frost withdrew,

The earth began to stir;

A blade of green came breaking through

The silence I’d endured.

No thunder split the waiting sky,

No trumpet filled the air;

Yet something in me learned that why

Is not the whole of prayer.

For God had not been standing far,

Nor hidden from my pain;

He worked beneath each unseen scar

Like roots beneath the rain.

And now when answers choose delay,

And silent seasons start,

I trust the Hands that shape the clay

Though hidden from the heart.

For winter is not death’s decree,

Nor silence Heaven’s end;

The season that unanswered seemed

Was teaching me to bend.

And when at last the blossoms rise

Where barren branches stood,

I see the wisdom of the skies:

The silence had been good.

Written by

Mugisha Joshua

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