1.

Swirls of golden smoke rose slowly from my blazing coffee ***. The dusty car at a distance slithered and crawled up the winding road. Sitting in the shack I watched the sand snaking its way up, keeping pace with the car and pelting it with sand particles as if it held a grudge against the driver. I had planned to go dune bashing but for the ominous tone of the desert.

2.

The next day morning remnants of what the desert spat out, the sand particles consume me. I am cloaked with gloves of voluminous dust. I take another sip of coffee. The pungent aroma of the milieu and coffee leaves me breathless. The greens are choked and there is sand art on pavements outside.

3.

I try to remove the sand on my hair as I wipe the aurulent sheen on the window pane.  A bunch of men wipes the dust from the tables and chairs in the opposite shack. An old dusty car crawls to a halt and parks, blaring the music of Led Zepplin.

Turritopsis dohrnii: A species of jellyfish that can revert back
To a sexually immature state when its injured or dying, making it biologically immortal.

A jellyfish,
Nothing but thickened water
Some genetic material
Polythene bags and paper glue,
Is granted immortality.
We, humans
The heirs of a billion evolutions,
A million grains of life,
Crumble like sand castles
Scatter like sawdust.

The universe taunts,
Laugh until your shadow swallows you
Your every breath was a thousand last breaths,
Puny mortal.

in dream-like states where
thoughts emerge from unconscious
whim, we carve stone sculptures
on opposite garden ends –

mine is a goat with webbed feet,
Carl’s is a duck with horns;
this is a meaningful coincidence

later, we play in the sand
with our wise inner figures;
he dances while I draw hearts

A tiny trickle of sand
passing through
the fingers of your hand
that's an hour
just a shower
of amber grains
what remains
of a once mighty boulder
much older than time
it has heard midnight chime
many times
the tick tick tock
of the clock of eternity
and now it embraces modernity
slowly wearing away
day by day
hour by hour
as a shower of sand
in the palm of your hand

sand exasperatingly tickles skin
as waves roaringly crashes upon it
a deafening wind agitates hair
as it rumbles through air
                   in all its chaos
                                       I find tranquillity

Sea sound
The music of life
Wild and free
Noisy in it's joyous abandoned moods
A naked dance under the heavens
Unceasing and restless
Ever shifting
Like the sand which follows it
Snaking in it's wake
A yellow puppy anxious to please the moving water

A storm is coming.
Can you see it rise?
Clouds on clouds,
Darkening the skies,

A whirlpool of seagulls
Their wings spread wide,
Observe from above
The swelling of the tide,

The sea as it churns
Angry and white,
Waves foaming and spluttering
In outbursts of light,

The air is like static,
Hear it crackle and hiss,
As it itches to experience
Lightning strike the abyss

The beach is deserted,
Been left cold and bare,
The ruins of sandcastles
Abandoned without care.

A storm is brewing,
Disturbed from its sleep,
Ruthless and wild
As it stirs from the deep.

The grains of sand stuck
to the sweat in between my
toes are each as big and
burning as any star stuck
into the spilt Black—
each mass a Giant searing
through skin, bubbling towards
the hollow flues of bone,
kindling a greater burn that
shines out my eyes, reflecting
my own Ancient Chaos back
at those watchful fires
in the sky;
call it an introduction,
a nod in acknowledgement
of our meetings to come.