Fury Of The Harmattan Poem by Fubara Benstowe

Quivering and quivering
We quiver in our chilly beds
Like a sodium in a fresh water vessel
The comfort of night is drowned
Fresh moist aura has turned arid
Morning smiles has turned sour
The rages of these times
Has tore our lips into strands
And our feet broken too.

O! Fresh morning dew
That throws moist on thirsty soils
And makes our crops ever green
What can we do to appease the sky up there?
The harmattan has beating us black and blue
And we find it very hard to breath
Our eyes has turned crimson
And our nose choking from its dust.

What can we do to appease the sky up there?
It has indeed pampered us with so much cruelty
And has conspired with the winds
To waft off the roofs over our heads
And paste dry cold on our innocent skin.

Are you saying we fast and pray?
Only then by the click of a morrow dawn
We can wake and fill it no more?

Me, I am going up there
No not the sky, I mean heaven
Where the harmattan pays obeisance
But if I am ask, I will say to them
Down there, the harmattan is beating
Black and blue.