My ears woke before my eyes
In a night whose journey was neither here nor there
Hoping to hear songs of beautiful-voiced birds
Who sang to souls for eyes to search for their star selves
Instead, they heard weak chirping complains
Of a handfuls of pest-like sort of birds
Accompanied by a feeble taunt
Of some cricket who obviously feel the harmattan haunt
So sad were the slow walking noises filled with doom
That like the look-out soldier
Who perceives a massive loss
Ears retreated and bumped into mind
Whose whips woke nose whose whines of bruises of the harmattan
Could be heard by a pained hell congregant
Waking all parts
As eyes blink rapidly its disgusts
Who am I to interfere in the internal war?
Even night hawkers are trying to run
As dawn cries more than necessary
So a little war of sanity
Where hidding is preferable
Is in order
Go on commradic-jurisdictions
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015
Mum Cee 
6 replies on “HARMATTAN HUES”
You are so talented. Even when I don’t understand some of the cultural references, I feel your words. You speak directly to my emotions, like Maya Angelou. Lately, every poem leaves my eyes wet and an ache in my chest. Don’t ever stop writing poetry.
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Thanks. And I have succeeded in piquing your interest in my culture today. Nothing much on themes except to say every thing seem to be suffering from the biting mini winter we have here. So it is understandable for me to want to stay in bed.
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I’m ready to hibernate too. It must be my own heart looking for a reason to cry.
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Too bad. Tears are meant to free the soul. Too much of it hurts the eyes and soils a being in weakness. By all means cry it out Pam but do it in the right dose.
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I cry a few tears but I seldom bawl.:0)Thank you.
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Accepted. đŸ™‚
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