In Ilorin.. Poem by Tunji Ibrahim

The day oozes supremely like mama from heaven. Nature walks not its path with no innovations. First, it is a bright, breezy day. Then the clouds poised to mime some abracadabra of celestial hymns. All is caught impromptu when the sullen grey sky appears sly and lackadaisical in its ritual, but no one is least censorious at such realization. The rumble and tumble halts in the brevity of indignatory and incendiary waves of torrent not until the threatening clouds maroon incommunicado as though from karmic discredit. In no time, a clear and detailed manifestation of the notorious oddity of Harmattan comes in no different dimension to accentuate this reality. It is a strange, hermetic world of its own; now people of Ilorin will really have to face the prevailing validation of all the heralds that usher in the compelling atmosphere.