I wrote these poems about the seasons. Back in Nigeria, which is a tropical region, there are just two seasons: Hot and Dry. Harmattan is more or less the winter of the tropical region. From my attempts at describing that period, instead of white snow, we have tons of red dust. Enjoy.
Whistling across rooftops,
Slamming against doors,
Sending a chill through the rafters,
You can’t miss it.
Can you see the snowflakes?
Gently twirling down in spirals,
Slowly, but surely filling up driveways,
Clogging up alleys and roads,
Rendering treacherous the safest mounts?
Little wafer-thin crisps of ice
Little would you know
It wore a mantle of power
Strong enough to wreck mayhem,
Yet it melts between my palms.
Coating everywhere with this white skin
From the highest mountain
Down to the lowliest plains.
In the midst of the winter,
A calm descends everywhere.
The tranquility exuded by white-
The color of peace
Serenity pervades the atmosphere
Yet strange to hear of death then.
That treacherous snow
Gives no heed to whom or what it covers.
Even the ravines and potholes receive its shelter.
It covers all and sundry
Like the blessed sunlight God gave.
The icy roads lead to the doom of many a driver
All due to the deceiving nature of snow.
A marked difference from Harmattan.
at least, the color of blood reigns then.
Covering all things in a fine red mist,
Leaving a haze of dust in everyone’s wake.
Oh dear! Here it comes
A-sighing and a-moaning
Through the corners and doors of the house
Signaling its advent to our homes.
Oh dear! Here it is
A-howling and a-whistling
Obscuring our paths
And leaving a haze in its wake.
Oh dear! Here it goes
A-swirling and a-wailing
Enveloping us in clouds of dust
Enclosing us in a fine red mist
Ah! There it goes
Twirling majestically away
Heralding the much awaited rain
To come and hold sway.
Here it comes again!
Going pit-a-pat against the windows.
On the roofs and everywhere
See how it freshens everywhere and leaves us with the air pure
And the refreshing scent of clean earth.
Seeming so meek and gentle
Yet at times, I ponder
Why it comes with the force of the hurricane,
The fury of Leviathan.
Wrecking mayhem and destruction
Upon the lush fields, homes
Trailing muddied earth in its wake.
But it is a necessary ill we can’t do without
For it possesses the power
To make or break a man!