African Night Storm Dream

The last I think I saw of the rustic scene Of the age long lore and antiques Before the spell was cast Was a dancing constellation in the sky To the throbbing of drum and flute. A full moon in golden attire watched keenly Smiling over the quiet thatched huts And all around the planes of furrows Where our backbone ache from tilling Where young cereals countless had sprouted. Then we reclined on our bamboo beds Having over-fed with yam porridge Yam boiled in red oil, dry fish and hot spice Watching the live coal glow under the tripod And transfixed by the distant throb of life. Suddenly a gust of wind descended Routing from the western valley The moon quickly puts off its smile The throbbing ceased, the stars disappeared And the coal dispersed sparks of its last ember. I saw the trees bowed to their lords The sky mumbled with iridescent light To the distant vale of palms wriggling Their braided heads to the dissonant rhythm Of disco and afro night storm. First there was only a patch of pool The pool turned to a running stream And the stream became a flowing river And the river expanded into a great sea And the sea brought forth a white monster. And the monster foaming and roaring Routed the huts and tossed us into the sea In the wild turbulent waves set adrift On a piece of raft, once our bamboo beds In dark storm and thunderbolts drift amiss. Then I was woken by voices of weeping And complaints; doused and shivery, There was no thatch or mud walls standing But a great flood washing away Remnants of our toils and inheritance.