Author : Lamya Mashuhur
Company : IBS Software
Email : lamslams9@gmail.com
THE WEARY TRAVELLER.
(POEM)
Harking my ears to the eagleb s cry,
Dragging my feet along the terrain so dry,
The din of the souq echoed above
The run of desert caravans on a rove.
Clanking swords attached to tapestries, hung
Next to henna stands for the young.
Shaking with heavy loads b camels,
And shimmering against earthen lamps, bells.
Dust swirled with a yellow flavour,
b Look at that weary traveller, oh brotherb ,
Went the cries of the Bedouin tribe,
Around the marketplace hard to describe.
The sun-baked clay walls all along,
And the air crackling with the nomadb s song,
Food, entertainers and curio stalls,
Alluring to all neighbours are those crystal balls!
An ochre tint enclaves the entire scene,
With dark, yellow spots in between,
Like the map of some extinct archipelagob &
Among traders bartering with lead scales far ago.
I sighed with the deepest of gratitudes,
For bringing me out of solitudeb &
Like a wish fulfilled by rubbing Aladdinb s lamp,
And the genie crying, b Hereb s a champ!b
The crowd smelled of incense and smoke,
And dying with thirst, I start to choke.
I staggered into the crowded alleyway,
Hands thrust by veiled woman holding my sway.
The evening sun beat along the ridges of my head,
As my aching legs turned to leadb &
Stumbling through the dingy trail,
Laid before me, slowly like a snailb &
Out of nowhere, there came drops
Of aqua b like gushing out from rocks
In the wilderness imbued with hazy fear b
From a cavern in the sand near.
Never have I felt such blind faith,
In miracles them old men saith.
The water reviving my heart into action,
And my being fell into peaceful oblivion.
|
