Slowly but surely, we wilt, we wither Like stalks of harmattan flowers. We crumble to dust as surely As the sun sets and the moon rise, As surely as the shore seeks the sea And fishermen hunger for the surf. This is not a curse but truth Stretch taut in our DNA, Lying tart on our tongues That we come, we go. The harmattan wind hangs in the air Like an opened pot of soup,- simmering, Enriching the air with the taste of the desert And her eons old hunger to become the sea. The birds, they seek berths on ships Set for wetter climes even as old trees Shed their leaves and budget For the forthcoming recession. The seasons, as we can see, come and go And so does man in all his atomic glory. Bald patches of uncounted grey hairs Ponder on the fate that time has dealt And wonders why eyes That penetrated the future yesterday Can barely see the path from the toilet To the sitting room today. As surely as the rains come At the shift of seasons, As surely as the harmattan winds Stained with dust and rubbles Of forgotten empires pale to gossamer wings, So do we slowly but surely leave. If we do come again Or if we go someplace else Where the seraphim sings and streets Are tarred with gold, is left for ye who ponder To portend and philosophize about. It is our fate to breathe and then cease, To begin and then end, To start and find a final finish. The aftermath we leave for those Whose heavens never came and Whose hell never ended,- A life that never ends. *** <center>![siblings862967_1280.jpg](https://files.steempeak.com/file/steempeak/warpedpoetic/58nDjJne-siblings-862967_1280.jpg)</center><center><sub>*[pixabay: Free-photos](https://pixabay.com/photos/siblings-friends-brother-sister-862967/)*</sub></center> *** ©warpedpoetic, 2019.