if it is in the desert where my soul must learn
to give
then I will live off of the sand as my thin skin
turns red
if my judgment be made by the house in which
I live
then I will suffer along with those who have
no bed
if I cannot convince anyone of this then listen as
I look
through a golden lattice at a sitar drowning in
our hate
how far must I travel to find the inner truth that
time took
while a conch on the desert or the beach sings
my fate