It rained on the night of 31st,
It rained and poured till morning.
The lights had gone out long before 11P.M.
It was dark when the wind came whipping through the open windows
And there were no fireworks to burn in the sky this year.
We were all supposed to be inside by 9P.M,
And it rained and poured till morning.
The locusts came earlier this year,
Enveloped trees and hang like leaves
The soldiers threatened to shoot them,
Food prices began to rise,
We anticipated a drought,
But then the locusts flew away.
Every January comes with a hot humid draught from the Lake,
Heavy sweat upon the brow,
Sweat in every crevice,
But now the dusk lingers after the night
And the mist stays put till midday.
The locusts are coming.
They had reached the Kenyan border.
They were sighted in the Sudan.
Making their way Southwards.
But they disappeared,
They went,
Wherever they go when they are not attacking.
Dead fish are arriving at the shore
Mouths gaping, their strange round eyes empty
One by one they are piling up
At the shores of Lake Victoria.
The rebels in the Western forests are back,
An army of dry bones resurrected from the dead,
And they are back,
Just in time.
It is cold this January.
On the morning of New Years,
A stormy evening sky took over where an early morning sun should have been,
And now the fish are dying,
And the locusts are coming.
PurplePretoria 