The East winds beat their wings,
With huge dark clouds heavy,
Heavy as they cloud my eyes,
My sensation is struck inside,
It’s the heavens, they are about to cry,
Cry out loud for we all to hear,
Stalks I see, Kiosks all around,
Retailers conversating, hawkers advertising.
For they see not what I see,
And they breathe not what I breathe.
It’s the smell of the Rains.

For so long, has it showered,
It starts, as its thunders shake the earth,
As though, they were lions unleashed.
The market shuts, stalks closed, kiosks locked,
My natives run to hide from the angry Heavens.
I am stagnant, my nasals active,
Sensations within me, to the rains remain stiff.
My actions strike me inside-out,
As struck to me, it shuts my mouth.
Though, men of my colour run, They run for their lives,
But I remain. Why?
Myself, am confused, for the joy of the Rains sting as an ants bite.
I will stay, Will remain,
For the rains have me joy-stained