All are in repose.
Reddening sun sinks under the will of the earth,
Melodiously drowning into the molten horizon.
My heart gasps in harmony,
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| "Under the Boabob Tree" by artist, Carol Howard, Photography |
Melodiously drowning into the molten horizon.
My heart gasps in harmony,
“Take me with you.”
Long and low, the shadows of the ancient baobab tree
Yawn and crawl toward the east.
The Baobab, two thousand years older than the father of Qasim,
Says, “I have seen some things; I have felt the slow hand
of many a weary wanderer. ”
These dendritic trees are upside down,
their roots suspended 10 meters up in the Saharan air
cylindrical trunks plunging down, down
into the throat of the earth.
Lions with bellies swollen, roll over in a heap
Exhaling the scent of steaming meat, sweeter than the baobab flower.
Whiskers stained red with blood are tended to by busying flies
They slumber, claws retracted and kneading through lion dreams.
Sated and in repose, the blood is too busy in my belly;
dreams, come without words to carry their ardent meanings.
So that any beings with a tranquil heart and absent mind
Are free to drum with Jilbran and Bayazid.
Long and low, the shadows of the ancient baobab tree
Yawn and crawl toward the east.
The Baobab, two thousand years older than the father of Qasim,
Says, “I have seen some things; I have felt the slow hand
of many a weary wanderer. ”
These dendritic trees are upside down,
their roots suspended 10 meters up in the Saharan air
cylindrical trunks plunging down, down
into the throat of the earth.
Lions with bellies swollen, roll over in a heap
Exhaling the scent of steaming meat, sweeter than the baobab flower.
Whiskers stained red with blood are tended to by busying flies
They slumber, claws retracted and kneading through lion dreams.
Sated and in repose, the blood is too busy in my belly;
dreams, come without words to carry their ardent meanings.
So that any beings with a tranquil heart and absent mind
Are free to drum with Jilbran and Bayazid.
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