Who will put the fire out
When it finally burns?
The time is known
At the end of each passing season.
Young bulls, come out
To set a fire, as they await
The harvest of the gods
While earth wrappers burn.
Time passes, and moments
Linger on the stumbling walls.
The little town becomes a city. These days,
Young bulls put out cold with the
Blankets. Dirty blankets.
Laundresses and mothers can not
Keep their clothes clean.
Who will keep my clothing
Clean, who will hunt the rats
When they come out of their holes?
The bush around my hut is burning
And my garden flowers are steaming
From the heat of the season.
I am stone-cold.
By David Ogana
David is obsessed with Poetry and the Arts. He is currently an undergraduate of Plant Science and Biotechnology, studying with Nasarawa State University, Keffi. He has been Published in online magazines and journals.