Bright mornings, the sun is out so early.

The leaves are dancing to the tunes of the cold air,

on her skin it feels so fresh.

The sky is clear as the sea,

looking so blue as she looks up to see.

 The reflection of the sun is radiant, turning a black colour surface gold.

 

The aura of harmattan is turning her memories back in time.

The moment of the past is playing tracks once again in her mind.

Making her craving for love rise.

 

A season as this has such great power to melt the heart, causing souls to fall in love for eternity. 

It whispers tranquility, 

it sings solemnity. 

She will never get enough of the feel.

Indoors are mild with open windows showing a clear picture of the sight beyond it.

And again, the fresh, cold breeze keeps rushing in like one being chased,

aww, her pinnae tickles funny.

She will never get enough of the rush.

 

She never forgets to keep her lips glossed because the harmattan is always waiting for her lips to go naked so it can pounce on and sip it dry.

A lip gloss became like a shield, 

With it she can dodge all the arrows of dryness shot at her. 

She never forgets the use of petroleum jelly on her skin. 

She wouldn't want her skin to go white like snow under the influence of the preying dry weather.

Still her love never change–

Her love for harmattan.

 

The smell feels so heavenly,

igniting a sensation in her like that of current flowing through an electrode.

She will never get enough of the flow.

If her bed cover overlaps causing friction,

lit fire twinks like two open wires in contact .

 

The ground looks deserted like a land suffering from drought.

The dust won't stop going up and down like the ocean under the influence of the tide,

painting the space brown.

When walking on the street,

Her dress sways from right to left magneting her body in every move.

The sun is scorching,

burning hot, making the atmosphere look like it wants to catch fire,

a perfect timing for photosynthesis, maybe not,

since rain has gone into exile this time.

 

The reptiles are joyful. 

The flies are excited.

The birds are chirping. 

She will never get enough of the sound.

 

Harmattan is here,

the signs are visible to the ears.

Harmattan is here,

the smell is perceived by the eyes.

Harmattan is here,

the sound is heard by the nose.

She will never get enough of it because in her heart, her love for harmattan is irreplaceable !