By Mojisola Josephine Kuwadinu:
The air is stale
The smell of sorrow lingers in the air
A dark shadow is cast
Humans wander, knowing not their destination
The fragrance of hope is lost
Despair now dwells in our life’s string.
Soon, the Fates will snip, snip, snip.
And the string will be detached from the yarn.
Wither thou goest, thou knowest not.
Hast thou considered what phantom laid beyond the river?