The Desert city

The church bell chimes quietly in the city
But this little town is left to Pity’s mercy
The only noise heard was the airs whine
Upon the obscure paintings as the only signs
Old dirty newspapers fly about
Passing telegrams to misty ghosts
Swerving from one side of the road to another
Times decaying touch plays the asunder
The hot sun bake the half-fallen houses
Overlooking abandoned shirts and blouses
Strange smell of burnt gas filter about
Drawing no attention, for everything care not
The airs here owes it all to the dusty wind
The broken glasses are strongly dust-tinted
Then from a lonely house by the roadside
The scenery and futility of the marvellous wild
Can be seen, structures, nature and hue
Even when the beautiful skies are dark blue
There are no birds to be seen around
Fine thorny cactus grow on the sandy road
Whereas trees are long dead from the Suns heat
No water, no moisture, no liquid of any sort
The drainage pipes of households are broken
Picturing a thousand years of abandon
And the undecent airs from there sucked away
For this city though lost to the world still stay till today

When the Sun rises, she paints a warm golden color
Upon this lonely, quiet and deserted city
For the only lovely sight here is the waking Sun

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at

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