The power Crisis.

Power Crisis,


Sunday Evening,
The house is a tiny passage in the depths of a mountain at night,
No one is having their phone we just relocated to fourteen twenty eight,
It’s Africa we don’t know about a torch light.
Oh yes there is a power cut at home.


Everyone is busy bothering about their business.
Trying to be alive and abide by the bearings,
No, it’s just not working out.


Seeing that it’s dark as the mind of a thief who is about to snatch a pretty lady’s  handbag in town.
I move prudently lest I spill the soup and scatter the supper cause I’m serving.


All of a sudden, I became naive and my mind is pampered with kid stuff,
They challenge me just as how the Israelite's were challenged with Goliath the Buff,


I dig into the past and extract my cousin reel off on the witch who covers herself in the pot’s.
I realize that I’m having some pot’s on my tray, so I pose,
I begin to wonder in what pot the witch might be poking her nose,


Abruptly, all objects on the board begin to bump,
There is an earthquake on my tray.
I close my eyes solidly and cramped, I see dark eyes of the witch bordered in red.
They touch my back and I scream as loud as rock concert speakers.
Alarming everybody in the home as the morning bell.


Suddenly there is light,
I then realize that it’s actually mom touching my back
trying to find out why her little boy was trembling all alone in the dark.


With much curiosity as a cat I rush to my room,
I prostrate with my face covered under my palm,
Then I ask my God, “what has just happened Fam?”

Rabson,




















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