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

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Inspired by WPC themed MUSE