Ndirande: Postmortem after a storm

Our yesteryear’s dreams become today’s nightmares. We shriek; our voices gruff with bitterness Our hearts heavy with anxiety We bleed from within Unwilling to acknowledge our mortality We fiddle with our dreams Hope with our hearts and Pray with our souls Granny picks up the shards Of her wrecked shack Too numb to react Too helpless to rebuild Kwashiokered grandchild Plays in the grimy bath water Mucus dripping down his nose Apathetic to the obliteration The lunch hour muezzin sounds Jolting this population back from their delusion Where, even, for a little while, They escape the pangs of this vulgar obliteration That has left them naked and fraught Above the murky heavens The vultures return to claim their carcass