Harmattan’s Grip

Harmattan’s Grip

I hate how the Harmattan claws
Its wind scrapes the sky raw
Flings dust like a grudge against my skin
It dances recklessly, a wild thing
Humming a tune only it knows
Choking the air with its ghostly show

This heat is a stubborn thief,
pressing down till my bones ache
And I’m like a "bole" charring on a roadside grill
My sweat hissing like "suya" fat
A meal for this season’s hunger

But Port Harcourt… oh, Port Harcourt lies
Here, heat wears a wet mask, thick as regret
Morning, noon, dusk; all bleed together
A fever that won’t break
You’d think time forgot to move, trapped in the same sweaty breath
Same sticky sigh, same endless "why"

Yet Jos cradles the night like a secret.
Her cool slips in, quiet as a prayer
Wrapping my blistered days in cloths of frost
For a moment, the wind forgets its rage
For a moment, I forget to hate