Meditation in desert
Belongs in collection
Written by Photini Karamouzis- Chalkias
How much of the desert dust
to dust off the clothes of oblivion?
How much of vastness can be contained in the breathing air?
The steps on stone ground borders
resounded like clanging guns
making an echo in the reddish hacks of the sky.
The stars like a lattice over the mud ceilings
flirt with earth
whether they become drops of a rare rain
or create a prophet’s enlightened path.
The human existence
like a shadow will just pass,
it will be sand and silence
an oasis halfway the search.
Do the foreign lands meditate?
Do the palm trees keep quiet?
Does the source of curiosity dry up?
Where does the desert end?
The streets unfold concerned areas
and each grain of this arid route
Just a look is perhaps enough
to water the soil with anticipation.
This belief in the vast unknown cause answers to bloom
Dozens of suns to zenith
Flesh is writhing of thirst!
Can you live by strain?
When nature desperately sucks your existence?
To scatter it like ashes ….
… to feed the beast of coming back? […]
If you have never walked on a desert
you haven’t felt the heavy step on the ground
if you have done it, however,
then you don’t even need to see how it is on the moon …
The endless desert makes you indolent
to quit browsing thousands questions
of the civilized society
and dedicate yourself
to how your next step will bring you closer
not to get lost in the vortex of this cyclone
that stirs your guts.
The desert is everlasting!
Impossible to fit it in you
Nature does not respect you
You respect it!
Trivial though you might be,
you wonder how you can interfere on it.
Walking alone … you conclude that ..
human relationships are not that important
when you do not know why you exist.
But you just exist!
And try not to make your existence a barrier
to the biodiversity around you.
And then came the roar of sparking winds … […]
that made so much noise
while scratching the gates of holy lands.
Gravel slums our yesterday’s wounds
And the lighthouse is not pointing anymore
to where you thought the aim is
Many are the nights of silence
as many are the stones of tolerance.
I leave behind me the footprints to get drowned by Eastern dust
I gaze shabby markets almost faded
I scavenge frayed pictures
obsolete by the time
unvalued mistresses strow colorful textiles
on the streets that I lay my glance
like carpets on the terrace of mornings
and music slips through cracks
to sluice as windstorm choking my roads in front of me …
Though questions are structuring my thoughts … .let it be …! The answers
always come at the next trip!
Negev Desert, Israel