Harbinger of Sahara, king of the queer dust I hail you!
Your entourage of heavy sand storms and dunes
Display there works of art on our glass windows and faces
You give us very strange attires, ghostly ones

We wonder, we make guesses of why you love the dust,
Why you paint all; flowers, careless food, the pond
And why you draw make ups on our innocent faces
But when you leave, we have air void of your asunder

Our feet crack, our lips go extremely dry
No one knows your origin, even the nomads,
The camels, the horses smell you and grunt hard
When your dust meets water, it gives a pleasant smell

Where the rivers flow, you carry your dust to
So when we escape from your conquered cities
We run into the embrace of the river’s mud
Trees stand aghast, confused of what you are becoming

But alas, you come and must go,
You and your cruel crew
So where next are you going to,
And why must you paint all so?