Harmattan

From the north,
A residue of white breeze clears the world.
Under the heaviness of the enraged sun,
Powerful trees surrender their tubby leaves.
The moon comes,
Riding on the wings of cold
Elderly people men are bound to their beds
While small kids can't play in the downpour
Which has gone on a get-away.
Harmattan has happened upon us
Leaving its path on our serrated lips.

 

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