All the flowers have wilted and died
streams are dry and cracked
clouds dotted the deserted sky
the sun is beaming merrily above.
The dirty dogs do not bark, they pant
the children have since refrained from plays
mothers wear wrappers around their chests
the aged sit idle on rocking raffia chairs
They all occasionally gather around
often glancing at the sky
no one says a word, for all are aware
that they are awaiting the first raindrop.
When tired of the griots’ tales,
they retire with angry bellies
gazing at their empty barns and farms now stalks
and embrace their unforetold plight.
They once regarded the raindrop
a minor element of no importance
so why worry and pray and hope
that it comes though absent for a year?.
When all awhile you did not see
the value of a single raindrop.
An element so small yet it made the sea
an element so small yet your life depends on it.