Heavy foggy freezing morning

Visibility possible

Only by headlights

Illuminating the road ahead

In the haze, we all trudge along,

The white dust of the dry season

Sheathing our nimble cold legs in stockings

Lips cracked by the remorseless South Westerly winds

That the sheen of shea butter cannot gloss

Easily parched throats gasp for a little fluid

That gets dissipated soon as it nourishes

And I am reminded of Lazarus in his glory

Who cannot nourish the Rich man

Harmattan, in your finest hour

Will you nourish us with rain?

Copyright © Celestine Nudanu


I appreciate your patience with me as I catch up on your blogs. Thanks a million! Shalom