When harmattan strikes
Most trees are barbered
As seas stand still
As though their god’s national anthem
Is playing through a Sharia law-microphone with hidden cameras

When harmattan strikes
Ovaries of trees are cleared for fertility
As their foetuses battle
For the waters of life
In order to live their seasons
Caring not about those they pushed
Into the graves of mulching and ashes

When harmattan strikes
Heads of beings turn into legs
As bathing starts from struggling toes
As if they have not enough problems of their own
Tasting all colder realms before the others

When harmattan strikes
African soils walk with raised shoulders
Defeating legs by embossing their unshakable tattoos
Handshaking handkerchiefs and merging to become their husbands
Cursing mouths to wince when water chases
Having their revenge by the attack of dryness and unusual whiteness
Knowing shea butter or vaseline
Are naturally attracted to their charm
And will eventually call

When harmattan strikes
Some poor dying plants
Risk being visited by hells of fires
Knowing their ghosts might wander for eternity
As their very roots are uprooted
Even rats are not safe in their in-built houses
As itching teeth hold huge sticks
Ordering stooges of dogs to hunt their tunnels

When harmattan strikes
It breaks many rules
Causing many weak breathers to perish
Leaving many memories uncherishable with few to cherish
When winter strikes
Even noses become tunnels for irritating phlegms
As coughs turn chests into drums
Birthing horrible mucus
How nauseating!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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