Caravan
This crisply muted
Calm Sahara night,
Belies the advent
Of the furnace sun.
Amid our bivouac
Of coloured beits
We stir from dreams
To sweet oasis dates.
Our caravan decamps
To race the dawn,
On ancient trading routes
Towards the sea.
By Adrar, Timimoun
Proud In Salah,
Hence we shall follow
Our nomadic star.
You wear an abaya
Of damask black,
Your mouth is veiled
In lattice woven silk.
Your beauty glows
Lit by the purple sky,
Now overwhelmed:
I turn from you and cry.
Copyright© Alan Gilbert 2012.
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