We quiver like sodium in fresh water vessel
The comfort of night is drowned
Fresh, moist aura has turned arid
Morning smiles has turned sour
And the rages of these times
Has torn our lips into strands
And our feet are broken too
O! Fresh morning dew
That throws moist on thirsty soils
And makes our crops evergreen
What can we do to appease the sky up there?
The Harmattan it sent to us
Has not been fair at all
Leading us through the harsh of life
Now, we find it hard to breath
Our eyes have turned crimson
And our noses chortle dust
What can we do to appease the sky up there?
It has indeed pampered us with cruelty;
Conspired with little termites
To chop off our fences in broad day light
It connived with the wind
To waft off the roofs over our heads
And paste dry cold on our innocent skin
What can we do to appease the sky up there?
The Harmattan it has sent to Africa
Has indeed beaten us black and blue
Written by: Fubaraibi Anari Benstowe
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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- the Harmattan (thebrantlybunch.com)
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