oluranti
09-26-2007, 02:33 PM
11th January, 1990
SEASON OF THIRST
How could the fall of a pin
Have raised this much dust?
Why should the leaves
In such shameful disguise
Boldly embrace a powdery look?
When the sole can not predict
Where the hard surface lies
And the ankles continuously swim
In the ocean of dust
The shoe can not boast
Of any other colour but brown
Had you the courage and time
To keep the flower beds wet
And the godliness to keep your dress clean
Have you the grace to stop the wind?
Much needed yet much dreaded
Soothing on flesh
Ageing on hair and eyelids
What volume of showers
Will cake this dust
That is evasively jolted to dance
Burying the showers
In the depth of its bowels
Eight inches below dust level?
The land is thirsty!
Thirsty, let it be!
Till it has accounted
Where went the waters
Of the season of floods.
SEASON OF THIRST
How could the fall of a pin
Have raised this much dust?
Why should the leaves
In such shameful disguise
Boldly embrace a powdery look?
When the sole can not predict
Where the hard surface lies
And the ankles continuously swim
In the ocean of dust
The shoe can not boast
Of any other colour but brown
Had you the courage and time
To keep the flower beds wet
And the godliness to keep your dress clean
Have you the grace to stop the wind?
Much needed yet much dreaded
Soothing on flesh
Ageing on hair and eyelids
What volume of showers
Will cake this dust
That is evasively jolted to dance
Burying the showers
In the depth of its bowels
Eight inches below dust level?
The land is thirsty!
Thirsty, let it be!
Till it has accounted
Where went the waters
Of the season of floods.