son of the desert…

shoes off
he runs
through the sahara sands
a desert fox
free from the city’s cage
no longer dashing
between motor scooters
and cars
that wind their way through the medina
in this haven
he moves among the tall grass
ears tuned to the sounds of
and calves
each one moving toward
a common goal
a desert pool
hidden within these dunes
the giver of life
this is his playground
where he belongs
gently caressed by the sand
like his mother’s touch
when he is ill
as when she presses him to her breast
soothing away all fears
and when he returns to the city
the desert’s arms
with fingers of sand
reach for him
as if afraid
to let him go

15 thoughts on “son of the desert…

  1. A strikingly similar thing happens to me every time I step out of church into the Central Square – it is like leaving a forest grove full of dim light, birds chirping, wind whistling through solitary branches, and peace, infinite peace, and stepping out into the wilderness, where the real coyotes, jackals and wolves dwell. I always need something like half an hour to get over the cultural shock. I very much resonated with this poem – thank you so much, Charles!

  2. Your trip really had a profound effect on your poetry. Must have been great. Were you glad to come back or was it one of those places you visit and start thinking “Maybe I could live here?”

  3. Strikes me as an overall duality between what’s momentary (“ears tuned to the sounds of..”) and guiding memories (“and when he returns…”)… fantastic barrage of imagery. Thanks

  4. happy Sunday!
    Thank you for the kind remarks in my place.

    you write inspiring poetry,
    which is a blessing to our community.
    Take good care.

  5. I LOVE this poem. My daughter used to feed camels and giraffes when she was a child. The first time, my heart nearly stopped beating when she ran ahead of me straight into the group of towering animals who surrounded her, reached their great necks down, curious to sniff her and study this child of human that held a bucket. I feared they would trample her, but they didn’t. Their eyes seemed to say what we do when we see a puppy or baby animal; they said, “Oh, look, it is sweet and so innocent. Be careful where you tread.” Your poem carried the same energy as those camels and giraffes who I learned to trust with my child.

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