Sinai Traveler

Wisps of desert grass blows

Along the straits of the road

The bald rock mountains

Baked and eroded in a time forgotten

Raises and falls as the traveler

Marvels through the mini-bus window.

A camel sits and chews in the heat of the day

Beside a Bedouin’s campsite.

Multicolored tents are scattered

Around the snippet of greenery,

That the desert allows living.

The road begins to turn and turn

Around the bald mountains

A giant rock shaped like a turtle

Sits among the white sands of a valley

In his thousandth year of silent meditation

Sand blasted mountains, made jagged

With wind, baked by sun, eroded with storm

Lies besides the giant turtle, and the road ahead.

Browns, whites, grays of the Sinai Desert

Are only interrupted by the black tar road, or

The tents of the Bedouin,

Or the rest stop to quench the thirst.

Silently the road travels around,

Upon, or over the mountains,

The traveler can catch a glimpse

Of the circular stone dug-outs

Which stand alone upon the high peaks,

Reminding all who passes below

Of a not so long ago war,

When this desert land was divided.

 

As the traveler cannot imagine,

What was there here to fight for?

It was just a hot desert then,

As the traveler knows it now!

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