My City, My Muse

Passing through pre-dawn Ajah
The mist swirls low, and cold it’s white clutches hiding the glows of dawn
I see a lowly hawker girl, lost in thought
head bowed reminiscing far and unknown things
The swirls of her yellow lycra skirt beckon
the brightest colour in this dreary grey backdrop,
White egerts soar over head looking down
Begger boys, asleep in the streaked wheelchairs atop the concrete sidewalk
Their sleep so peaceful, innocence hovers over their closed and weary heads like a beaten saint
While old men wander in the background
Searching the beaten stalls in the market
Roused from sleep by the stall owners
From dejection to luxury
The high grey walls and the street lamps that peek over a protected world
Streaking their evergreen decorated lawns with gold
Matching the colours of Christmas
Reminders that wealth is most at home in the gaze of the downtrodden
Good morning Lagos,
The last days of the old year show images that will echo in the new
The wanderings and hustle of the old and young alike
A the crack of dawn, seeking their livelihoods
The sleek and insanely wealthy slicking through the streets in the glaze of monster cars
The years may run by, the dates climb through
This will not change, it’s seems like the story that created this fabric of Lagos
Will forever repeat, broken it may be but this is home
In all its rotten glamour, an inviting worn apple

Inspired by WPC themed MUSE
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6 thoughts on “My City, My Muse

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