Eyes, barren as the deserts,
reflecting the melancholy voice
of The Oud, wet as the oasis,
not lies though, yet not wet,
Lips red as blood, spoke of the
bleeding broken heart. Yet once,
A river flown, washing the blood
off her heart, and smothering the
sand storms. still time had a story.
It was just an oasis to her burnt,
dead dreams. The river was on
a valley, watering the red rose,
She once lovingly gave him ...