Dry Season

Dry Season

Thick white clouds
Retracing posture
Atop the layers of earth;
Foggy shrouds of white
Overclouded landscape
Clogging the sunlight
In blurry unclearness.

In brown faded bushes
Lies inhalations of dryness,
Catchy like the gasoline
In simple lit strikes
On matchboxes;
Spreading fierce fires
To four cornered angles
On grassy fields.

From silty bits of soil
Hovers clouds of dust,
Distributed casually
By several printed steps
Of slippers and rotating air.

The echoes of the wind
Screams with concurrent whirl,
Stirring up particles
In fiery harsh voices.

Innermost in the terrain
Glares cracking every way,
As the dryness sucks away
Final surviving drops of moist,
From pores of skin surfaces
And wooden doors.

Thence, in customary shrinking
Of shriveling leaves and bushes
Prowls the reptiles, fleeing away
In untiring searches
For cooler comforting abodes,
Resting forevermore
To the swift slashing cutlass
Of the cautious hunter.

4 thoughts on “Dry Season” by Dowell Oba (@dowell)

  1. Nice one Dowell…I like..Well done….$ß

  2. “Catchy like the gasoline”

    I think what you wanted to do here was to show how the leaves dry up and become highly flammable; but I doubt the above sentence captures that.

    It’s a nice poem though. Nice.

  3. This is very lovely. You just keep getting better. I love this.

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