COLD
by Debra Ayis
The harmattan* has come
So also have the rains gone
I’m thankful I have a home
To stop me getting chilled to the bone
Even though it’s not as cold as snow
Nor does it present a fragile show.
The selfish of the rich would never mind
If the poor have only rags to bind
Just to keep from freezing
While they try sleeping.
A sad scene I see
Every night on the streets
Where bodies have lost spirits
Right through the night
Before the dawn of light
Where now dead bodies lay.
When the night before day
While lying on side streets
The poor lay forlorn
On ground so like stone
begging for reprieve
Warding off the merciless cold
We don’t need to be told
That something should be done.
*The Harmattan is a season in the West African subcontinent, which occurs between the end of November and the middle of March. It is characterized by the dry...cold... and dusty northeasterly trade wind, of the same name, which blows from the Sahara Desert over West Africa into the Gulf of Guinea. (Source: Wikipedia)