I trudge through the sands,
the sun beating down mercilessly
on my head as if in punishment.
I wipe the sweat from my brow
and shade my eyes as I look ahead.
An ocean of golden sand
with unrelenting dune waves
stretches to the sweltering horizon.
A palm tree stands still and tall
far off to my left.
I turn towards this promise :
of a shade, of a succour, of an oasis.
Hope spurs me on,
dredges up the vestiges of strength
and makes my feet move.
The heat rises up from the earth,
burning my feet through the shoes.
The wind teases and torments me,
playing dead and then awakening again,
blistering my face and broken lips.
I hold on to my sanity
and stare at the scene ahead.
Through the haze, there appears
behind the palm tree far away -
A palace of splendour and majesty.
I tremble and cry dry tears,
too tired for this land's tricks.
Tired of body and tired in spirit,
I hold my head and scream.
I open my eyes and the mirage vanishes.
An eternity passes, or a moment,
and I find myself at the tree.
I dig with feverish need,
and through the wet sand
bubbles up a trickle of water.
I scoop it up and take a drink.
There is not enough to slake my thirst,
Not enough to quench my pain,
Not enough to douse my madness,
but enough to preserve my tether to life.
Leaning against the tree, I fall asleep
and dream of friends, guides and birds
under the watch of that cruel flame.
Not caring when or if I will wake,
I sleep and dream in a dream.
I wake up shivering in the night,
the wind caressing me in apology.
It kisses me tenderly on my parched lips,
and brings a sweet scent with it,
as if to reconcile me to itself.
The sun has broken into a billion pieces
and is strewn across the sky.
His fury has dimmed now.
And as I lift my fevered gaze at him,
he winks at me like a rogue.
But they are mischievous cronies,
the sun and the wind; and
winking and caressing, they mock me,
and conjure up a new magic
on that moonless, desolate night.
The wind dances and the stars glimmer,
and across the sere wasteland,
rise up phantoms made of sand;
spawned by the barren desert bed,
given form by the dexterous wind.
People, beasts and monsters emerge
and populate the arid land.
Each sand creature moves about,
either alone or in pairs or droves,
and lives its life in full.
And as I watch these creatures
being born, living and dying,
I notice that not one of them,
in their life of a few galloping minutes,
seems to be touched by sadness.
I sit there under the palm tree,
wrapped in my cloak of misery,
envying the magical gamboling forms.
My exhausted eyelids begin to droop,
and healing sleep takes me once more.