From the West
Clouds come hurrying with the wind
Turning
Sharply
Here and there
Like a plague of locusts
Whirling
Tossing up things on its tail
Like a madman chasing nothing

Pregnant clouds
Ride stately on its back
Gathering to perch on hills
Like dark sinister wings:
The wind whistles by
And trees bend to let it pass

In the village
Screams of delighted children
Toss and turn
In the dim of whirling wind
Women-
Babies clinging to their backs-
Dart about
In and out
Madly
The wind whistles by
Whilst trees bend to let it pass.
(From 'An African Thunderstorm' by David Rubadiri)
The poet varies the lengths of the lines skillfully