An African Thunderstorm From the west Clouds come hurrying With the wind. Sharply Here and there Like a plague of locusts Whirling Tossing up things on its tail Like a madman chasing nothing Pregnant clouds Ride stately on its back Gathering to perch on hills Like dark sinister wings; The wind whistles by And trees bend to let it pass. In the village Screams of delight children Toss and turn In the din of whirling wind, Women- Babies clinging on their backs- Dart about In and out Madly. The wind whistles by Whilst trees bend to let it pass. Clothes wave like tattered flags Flying off To expose dangling breasts As jaggered blinding flashes Rumble,tremble and crack Admidst the smell of fired smoke And the pelting march of the storm. DAVID RUBADIRI
Posted on: Wed, 07 May 2014 09:26:17 +0000
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