You know me
I make the trees dance
To my whirling music
And the leaves litter the yard
I lift ladies’ skirts up in gusts of wind
And the young men whistle
Then I blow their hats off
I bring ghosts to you
When shutters swing and doors bang
You love it
When I make clothes dry quicker
I’m the herald of roasted yams
And the dust too
I make lovers want to snuggle all night
And lazy men uneager to rise
You hate me
When I make your lips chapped
And skin dry and grey
I tell you the grains
Are ready for harvest
In the dry harshness
Of my nightly howls
You crave rain
I’m Breeze of the Sahara

41560cookie-checkBreeze of the Sahara

Lupér is a law graduate. He writes poetry and short stories. He enjoys reading.

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