With each step of mine,
the sand rolls down the dune
like a cascade of gold.
In the twilight before dawn,
I walk on gilded paths.
There are tornadoes up ahead -
Pillars of swift swirling sand
rising impossibly high.
I walk towards the marvels,
ever drawn to the impossible.
I see people milling about,
waiting under the scorching sun.
Their feet betray their impatience,
their eager eyes watch the pillars -
the Impatient waiting for the Impossible.
A woman walks out of a pillar.
She walks to the waiting crowd,
her blue robe fluttering in the wind.
The crowd is silent and still now,
like a held breath near a flickering flame.
She moves to an old woman
and takes her hands in her own.
They converse for a while
and she steps back a few paces
still talking; her voice clear and calm.
She lifts up her hands,
one higher than the other,
her flowing sleeves hanging.
Head uplifted, she starts to spin
like a graceful dancing wave.
Faster and faster she turns
and the sand moves with her.
It swirls around the two women
and rises slowly up to the sky,
a spiralling column of yellow.
Just as they are hidden from view,
the woman steps out again,
the sand parting to let her through.
She strides towards a man,
piercing through the sea of people.
A touch of hands, a shuffle,
a dance and the sand moves again.
Another column, another bated breath.
I draw closer just as the woman emerges,
the crowd suffocating with hope.
She catches sight of me and turns.
I stand transfixed by her gaze.
A cocoon of stillness forms about us
as she approaches me with a smile
and envelopes me in calm and understanding.
She takes my hands in hers -
hands small and cold and strong.
She peers into my tired soul
and instils courage and cheer.
My soul responds as she speaks.
She lets go and steps back
and I say my prayers out loud.
Not to her but at her.
She lifts her arms and spins,
her eyes closed, her mouth moving.
The sand dances with her and rises
and my prayers float up inside the column -
a channel between heaven and earth.
Prayers, groans, hopes and answers flow
through this conduit created by the woman.
Her work done, she turns to leave.
And I...I shift my gaze from the sky,
from the promises and the answers.
To look at this woman garbed in grace
In a moment of foolish yearning, I turn from heaven.
As the pillar collapses, the woman turns
and we look at each other -
I, with shame, and she, with pity.
She walks to the next person.
And I walk away, my head bowed.
I sit nearby and look on.
The ritual carries on into the night.
She looks at me from time to time,
kindness and empathy in her gaze.
And though near, we are an infinity apart.