Awe gust
The wind whirls
And stirs the dust
Leaving the grass with nothing to anchor
It is the august wind
That blows so viciously
After the winter’s chill
Has tormented the frail shrubs
It blows dust in my face
As if to spite me
For I can do nothing to stop it
But somewhere in me
I smile in defiance
Because I know
That the next season is spring
But unlike the august wind
I have no one to spite
I curse and praise nature at the same time
For the august wind
And the life that buds in spring
Through these episodes
I get exposed
As one with no might
I take whatever she throws
Even if I do not like it
I’m just grateful
That she doesn’t only frown
But smiles at times
poem by Matete Motsoaledi
Added by Poetry Lover
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