Dunes
Curved and crafted by the wind.
Curved and crafted by the wind,
waves in peaks and troughs,
deep below they move so slow,
then reach for heavens lofts.
Under moons shaped like balloons,
in colours red and gold,
secret tunes vibrate the dunes,
in stories I’ve been told.
Like a sea in shutters,
seen in a photograph,
frozen for a moment,
turned into lithograph.
Rolling time in pantomime,
a satin sheet of steel,
framed in fiery furnaces,
unreal and surreal.
They seem to reach forever,
their fingers reach the sky,
no rain has ever touched her face,
the living stop, to die.
A grain of sand in my hand,
a moment lost in thought,
where Bedouins and Arabs roamed,
some fought whilst others taught.
So, I watch you in my dreams,
your ever-changing shapes,
the sensuous curves a war of words,
where camels slowly traipse.
Afternoons in the dunes,
and sunsets tinged in blood,
flowing free like the sea,
then nipped in the bud.
©
David Rudder
23rd October 2020
Thanks for reading.
