There is a tree standing right in front of my window which I admired the joyous mood and the warm welcome it accorded me when I first moved into this flat in August last year. But time has changed. Winter came and killed my friend. When it was taking its last breath it warned me not to bury when it dies because "it is only the flesh that is dying, my soul shall remain protected by the Lord" said my friend, gasping.

That day I wrote a poem expressing the loss of a great friend and the hope to meet it once again sometime after six months. Now I smell rebirth of my friend as Spring winds coupled with days brightened by the bliss of sunshine are coming back.

I gave this tree the name Guelle, a common Somali name meaning, Man with a huge herd of camels -- Somalis are proud of camels and, in old days, anyone who deserved respect and honour was given to that name. This tree has won my admiration and I so call it Guelle to honour it by virtue of its beauty

Though dead long ago he defied death
He lives in death without being alive
Anytime I pay tribute to this champ
I see his body still erected, unfallen
Enveloped with unblemished courage
And spirits swayed not by death itself
Majestically gawking upon a skeleton
Framed in desiccated shrunken bones
But yearning for a renewed comeback
As a wind of love is breathing life on it
While Spring remains
The midwife of my hero’s rebirth
Come back Guelle