Akwu Sunday Victor writes

Waiting for Rainfall

You shut the gates of heaven
And there was no rain

We said nothing and ate stones

In place of rain thorns fell on us.
We asked you, they scourged us.
Sixteen moons with edges of thorn.

You told us I shall fold fibres of pain
And
We thought the moon shall rise.

You shut the gates of heaven.
The earth's lips cracked
And leaves fell from trees at all times

Then, in the midst of draught,
The darkest moment, after our eyes
Had looked up to the hills for dew
A torrent of locusts fell upon us
And we were too dumbstruck to cry.

A punch to the pot of life and our hopes lay aborted
On slabs of iron.

 Your Mother Is Parched -- Jocelyne Champagne Shiner