Bedouin

Beyond a sandstorm’s gritty veil, A solitary Bedouin, Like a ghost in a sea of dunes, Rides slowly along in the dusk. The singing of rababah strings Mimic the cooling evening winds; Tambourines and flutes sound sadly From the oasis where he’s bound. His caravans once wound their ways From the Atlas to the Tigris, Trudging across the somber sands Of a boundless and barren realm. O Bedouin, where are thy tracks? No hooves clatter in the wadis; No trail of rotting camel dung. O Bedouin, where are thy ways? O Bedouin does your dirah Yet teem with goat and camel flocks, Since you have settled in the towns, Which you once heaped with scorn and mocked? O noble herdsman once so proud, Tightly wrapped up in culture’s shroud, Are you bottled up like the Djinn; Forced to serve those who hemmed you in? The rosy mirage of freedom Is like a scarlet evening light That paints the clouds with fiery hopes Which fade in thralldom to the night.