A Morning like Grey
Harmattan in Ilorin
It is the first flip of the day
and the fog sit, back against the
flecks of the sun, a recursive
wind motored cold
drives the air, new day
into sudden March, and
they paint heaven grey, grey
like this grey plaster
that wears my lips, I walk
like haze (remembering separately
London and the snow covered roads)
to rears running backwards
forward into dust storms.
It was the grey smoke
of the day that shame pergola
and the greens race to
sleep with dirt
where yellow flu heralds
brown death.
Your words should be heard by every Black/African woman who has to contend with the world’s ideals of her imperfection since the dawn of time. Thank you for your beautiful words. peace…
Thank you, Makeba. I appreciate.
I love your writing, I hope you can come to read some of your poems to us at the women Rosh Chodesh circle.
love,
Hilla
Impressed, congratulations from Toronto
i love that poem..its rich in words as well as there significance.
kudos Wale