The rain basks in humid slumber, whilst grandma’s roses wilt—
Hearth of earth wallows in defeat
and I stay lost and bare—
My strength died beneath the scorching siege
and my fate wanders—
I pray the night for relief.
The day is forlorn
in the yellows, blues and reds of phantom magic—
I don’t know the colours of nature no more—
All I see is the brown shade of its death.
© Oyeleye Mahmoodah Temitope