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Again you come to lay your hand upon our feeble frames;
Your long tongue licks our oily lips and faces into whiteness,
Forcing many to swallow tasteless dust in feverish moods!
Oh harmattan!
Your cruel touch paints oily, cracked lips with red dust,
And make men made shiver like palm leaves in the sun,
Even sheltered in thick coverlets, left to frozen thoughts!
Oh harmattan!
Fie! You trek across the dry Sahara with seasonal malice,
Wearing the clouds with your white garment of dryness!
Sweep quick and go away with you breeze of cruel dust!
Written by: Moses Opara
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
