Harmattan

The leaves wilting sterilely, covered
In layers of dusty brown soothes
The wind whistling fiercely as it races
Through the landscape from the arid
Desert, bearing in its wake simmering
Absorbent, draining out the last of the
Moist deposits from the mid-night dew

Aided by the scourging sun in the sky
Transported by an arid wind baking
The air into a rigid bristling matter
Cutting through the nostril to the lung
The atmosphere covered in hazy mist
Products of the sandy northern desert
Bathing everything in white bristle fog

The sterilely wind pushing back the
Luster ocean breeze with a fiendish
Strength, weighing down the water
That lays docile upon the vast sea
Rippling, yet unable to rise up to its
Wavy strength but stretching out
Blankly and dissolving into the distant
Horizon; a white hazy mass of water,
Space and sky

Their lips cracked like bristled leaves
The children milling around, filled with
The festivity of the season; it‘s time for
Social reunion in the country home as
The city folks host their kinsmen to their
Annual ritual of waste-gate of their wealth

It is the interlude between Xmas and the
New Year; the result of all the sound of
Christmas heard in the previous week
It is the season of the Harmattan; it’s autumn
When snowflakes falls as rain drops
And dry wind pierces up the ground