Prose

Dry, Hot and Hurting.

Sleep had only just arisen from bed,

but the sun had already pierced the gray eastern sky
with a blow touch.

Searching for the sins we committed against the motherland the night before.

Jars of water to quench our thirst and fear run away with the testaments of our lives
as flames of heat prowl the day seeking to devour any found in or out doors, they say, on behalf of God.

But we have done nothing and God is innocent.

It won’t be long before the sun gets drunk with mist, loses its fury

And falls into the valley beyond the horizon.

And a scantily clad yawn will sneak in at the first hour of dusk in search of wary souls to send to bed,

To sleep, while our  iniquities slip away for a national count,

Until another day when the cycle of life begins anew.

But it is just another season, a hot dry and seemingly hostile season with no intention to hurt anyone.

Soon the rains will come and all will be calm again.
And we shall raise our voices and
Thank God again and again for his mercies on US.

Then the floods will come……

Philemon Doro Adjekuko.
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief.

About author
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, Newspackng.
Articles
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