Morning gripped the city in a cold
in its mist, dry out of temper wind blew
stinging skin, nostrils, and throat
in every home, fires were kindled
stirred and stoked with lean woods
hunting away chills that pierce the bones
of old and young who gathered around it.
Low-hanging clouds dribbled and drizzled
with fine droplets of mist mixed with
dust spewed forth from matching footsteps
from a street that never goes asleep.
Even today – Sunday all are matching
towards God’s man-made-house –
our cathedral and home of woes
just then it starts to drizzle
as thin brown films cover every surface –
Harmattan came.

Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | |2020

Tribute to Ozumba Mbadiwe Road, Victoria Island–Lagos. A route I commute most in Lagos. The Harmattan season makes a ride through your ever busy lanes very memorable.

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