I threw leaves into the river:
Big leaves, small leaves, spliced leaves;
Some stepped off in style,
In confidence and majesty,
Like a convocation above a storm;
Some charged away unevenly
Like dance of a pack of hyena
In survival battle with a pride;
The rest ebbed away in silence
Like mist in the sun;
And I thought: these are how we go
When rust calls us to dust.
(c) Nwafor Awala
May 2024