Dunes (Poetry)

Indolent, the yellow sandhills drift,
each atom caught in endless ebb and flow,
the fierce Sirocco chivvies roughly, sifts
grit-heavy clouds that twirl a one-trick show.

Graceful curves, long-limbed, dunes undulate,
big-hipped, they rise and fall — seduce the eye,
their gentle lines deceive and captivate,
stretch stark against the vacant, staring sky.

But restless, even while soft slopes recline —
lie scorching in a shimmer of content —
their contours shift and trickling sand runs fine,
wipes out the trail — each foot’s unwanted dent.

Two-faced, wild desert dreams blow hot and cold,
as fickle as a love turned quick to hate —
that sudden chill when sun lets go its hold
and moonlight freezes every sleeping shape.

Harsh beauty, without pity, lures and lends
its strange attraction, fascinates, invites —
the wanderer, unwary, who intends
to try to cross her rollercoaster heights

that ripple, perfect — golden skin unpocked
and virginal behind the heat’s thin haze,
his strength near-sapped, his squinting gaze now locked
on far horizons where a mirage plays

and leads him on to perish in the sand —
another sacrifice to satisfy
the spirit of this cruel but magic land
where fools are led — to lose themselves and die.