Sands pallid and fine drift in the wind
Merging in dunes ever changing in some
Nervous shift. Here the angels shed no tears
Save solitude wiping moisten eyes
To sanctify such holy ground.
Feet, foreign in a barren waste,
Shine a sterile eye dry;
But split hooves etch their logo like
Man Friday on virgin sand,
Unperturbed by gold buried in black
In banks beneath.
Bedouins solitary and silent,
Scan the broad sterility
As Shamal shifts its voice in warning tones-
Casting shadows over its sanctuary.
Sun hard as a flare tip rinses its face
In a pool thirsty for rain, and shrubs,
Dying for a drink draw Olympic rings
Around eaten fingers of rocks.
Dates are tempting today and everyday
Like some enchanting tune, desert plays
A record that holds in palm fever,
That once caught, molds a mirage of hearts,
Into an oasis of dreams.