The Storm

Coming from the African coast

With dark clouds rushing with your wind

Twisting and twirling here and there

Like a huge swarm of angry bees

You have clouds ready to give birth

The sky a maternity ward

While the winds make trees spread rumours

Making them bend in the gossip

The streets and sidewalks deserted

Deserted as the Sahara

The town is like a cemetery

Being disturbed like a procession

The fork-like blinding streaks appear

Roof tops wave like national flags

The pelting of raindrops to ground

As huge stones roll in the heavens