Cold Harmattan


If there comes a knock on the door
Don’t be in a hurry to answer
For there goes a strong wind
Rushing about the dry cloud
A very strange bust of air
Roaming the streets, the fields
Pulling leaves, and sand along
Dancing on the pathway leading to the hamlet
Painting faces with all white patches
Taking the dampness off the Earth
Drying the laundry that hung outside
Cracking the nuts under the tree
It is very awful, how fast it goes
The roads are all red brown
The shrubs and grasses loose vitality
The white colored huts are repainted
Oh but through the generosity
Of the cold blowing Harmattan
Come from the North,
Bringing tides of sand, dust
From the serene Sahara desert

Oiroegbu Halls

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at

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