Wasiq Bokhari September 8, 1997
Tags: Magic
Deserts are my abode
Harsh and inhospitable
Intolerant to errs and follies
That mar us so
In its aloof majesty
A desert has no companion
Vast empty lands, dead and lethal
Enemy of life
Harboring in its dark bosom
Ageless secrets
Countless footprints
Silenced echoes
Forgotten
There is a special charm of deserts
A secret magic of their own
Maybe one senses it when clear starlight
Pierces the desert night
and wind flows like honey
Careful ears hear songs long forgotten
In the pristine moonlight, the dunes lie waiting like a devoted lover
Or perhaps one is bewitched when
The burning heat of day
drives the air to madness
And the wind, in its fit of rage
desecrates the boundaries of dust and sky
These deserts are my abode
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