FEATURE ARTICLE

Monday, December 3, 2018
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HARMATTAN (Poem)

hat dry awful wind
that comes with terrible whirlwind
is here with us.
Has the reputation
of blanketing visions
of citizens with dust particles,
showing no respect and regard
for all and sundry.
Controls a force that compels
flowing gowns and loin clothes
to engage in fluttery dance,
to the embarrassment of their wearers,
blowing across the niger
and benue rivers,
adding extra ripples
to their surface contours.

Female silk scarf,
not well tightened,
is blow off in open road.
Skins with chocolate colour
are painted grey.
Lips are cracked and dried up
and not smooth enough for kissing.

And at its peak,
Folks at the control towers
prevent airplanes
from landing
as the harmattan
blurs pilotsí vision to capture
the airport tarmac,
compelling planes to hover awhile
or divert and to stage a comeback.
at the mercy of inclement weather.

Its discomfort notwithstanding,
I still prefer the harmattan
to the frigid wind, and sunless weather
of the icy land of northern europe


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