Harbinger of Sahara news, king of the queer dust I hail you
Your entourage of heavy sand storms and dunes
Display her works of art on our glass windows and faces
You give us wonderful attire, a ghostly look
We wonder, we make guesses of why you love the dust
She paints everything; flowers, careless food, the pond
And worst of all, the innocent faces we carry about
But when your strength goes, we have air void of your asunder
The feet crack, the lips go extremely dry
No one knows your origin, even the nomads
The camels, the horses smell you and grunts hard
And when your dust meets our water, it gives another scent
Where the rivers flow, you carry your dust to
So if we escaped from your the city’s airy dust
We run into the embrace of the river mudded clay
Trees stand aghast, confused of what is becoming
But alas, you come and go
You and your cruel crew
So where next are you going to,
And why must you paint us so?
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