Harmattan

The days are made beautiful with your glorious appearance
But when the sun rises up the clouds, the warmth is taken
And for men, faces become a caricature of disgust upon the mirror

In the morning even before the Suns rising
The firmament and the pathways is filled with mists
The track to the stream and forest is covered
The road is treacherous, for snakes sleep in your wake
The dews settle upon the leaves of trees, weighing down the branches
And all about the vegetation, smell of burning grass and wet clay stay
The greens turn red with dust
The greens frown and grow brown
When the hawks circle the skies
Searching for stray rats and chicken

The sun rises afterwards
Hot and boiling
Drying, dehydrating all
Taking the wetness off the trees
The thirst for water becomes paramount
The streams and rivulets
Quench the thirst of body and soul
Refreshing, fruits become a taste

Harmattan brings both joy and love
The evening breeze brings cool airs
A warm distraction from the heat of the day
The dry muds crack as men thread upon them
The leaves crack and fall in circles
Stripping naked proud trees and shrubs
The streams become more shallow
Children play in them, throwing water up
At one another in pure ecstacy

When the nights happen upon men
The mists return to shield the way
The moon shine lightly,
Upon the village and hamlet
The shadows of trees are hidden
In the thick fog which grows about
And when men gather in the inns
To paint the works of the day
With words come from cracked lips
And voices high pitched like the Nightingales
The airy evening bring good tidings upon them

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