ride stately on its back, clouds come hurrying with the wind, babies clinging on their backs, rumble, tremble and crack, whilst trees bend to let it pass, like sinister dark wings, tossing up things on its tail, screams of delighted children, to expose dangling breasts, and the pelting march of the storm, as jagged blinding flashes, gathering to perch on hills, like a madman chasing nothing, and trees bend to let it pass, to expose dangling breasts, amidst the smell of fired smoke, in the din of the whirling wind, from the west, in the village, madman chasing nothing,

'An African Thunderstorm' by David Rubadiri

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