Poems in Sand
Sami Al-Mutlaq (my pseudonym)
Bismillah ar rahman ar rahim
What are we but mere drifting sand in the vast desert of time and space? Who shall tell me why we are born, who we are to serve and to whom we shall reveal love?
I have traveled in the Rub Al Khali, and where people have seen emptiness, I have seen the ghosts of children playing with the dreams of those long departed, whose skeletons have become sand. I have seen men walk alone in a silent caravan, with no real destiny except perhaps the silent welcome of a lonely wife, who was now quiet as the winds on which the eagles soar. With them, their camels have walked, contemptuous of existence, their wooden bells ringing out in the dead of night, reminding the ghosts watching from behind dunes, that they are not intruders, but vehicles for the tormented ambitions of weak men.
Many years ago, I cloaked my face and began one such journey, unannounced, as was my custom, but only after invoking the blessings of those who seek only to love. Love would surround me as a slowly whirling cloak, and protect me from the cruel hot winds of the Rub Al-Khali. I held the hand of kind wishes and set out to Shibam. I carried dates and incense as a courier for another man, who envied me my permanent longing for solitude. I traveled from Tabuk in the far north to Shibam in Yemen.During the day, I walked. At night, I walked too, for the moon and stars shone in the clear sky and asked me not to rest but to understand eternal beauty and the true benediction of Allah.
Two days from the town of Qatif, as the sun sank in a pool of red, I came across three men, resting with their camels. We greeted each other solemnly and I inquired if I might rest nearby as well. They insisted that I share their food and we exchanged stories and searched for common acquaintances. We were surprised that the names of people in familiar towns were not familiar to either of us. I inquired about Al-Qahtani of Tabuk but they knew not of him, though they said their family was from Tabuk. They inquired if I knew of Al-Idris from Buraydah, but I did not know of him even though I had spent many waking moments there.
The stars shone in great brilliance that night. The camels looked at each other with half-closed eyes. One of the men took out an Oud and played. The tunes were created then, stroked by starlight, and ravished the nearby sands without touching them. The night winds calmed down and stopped to listen. The others sang, asking from Allah that fellow-men know of love and loneliness, and that music bring rest to the troubled mind. Such was the gentleness in their music. I listened, with my head resting against the side of my camel, and his heart and mine came together, to the beat of the dark night. I wrote poems in the sand, with words I had not heard of before. And I saw the sand embrace them and take them down, down, down, to the hearts of poets who were lost for so many years in the desert. The men sang my poems, and the words now crept over the dunes and slipped away into the night. I slept, dreamlessly. But no, there was light. The light of love from ghosts who had listened to the music and held it in their hands.
When I awoke, it was the dawn and the men had gone. For the first time, I saw the tracks of camels leading away, and the sand not erasing them. From the far distance, I heard the Oud and I knew that I was not to go towards the music.
I walked towards Shibam, alone, with the bells of my camel, subdued, but caressing, now with the fragrance of love.
