travellers

the sun beholds its whip
upon the camel’s back,
the hoofs in sync, but heart depressed
beneath the sand; lingering back.

a map is drawn and torn,
the compass spinning round.
the Arab wandering, lost in thought –
where was that place I found?

traverse a landscape, more deep and wild
lithe heat beneath my feet;
a compass within will lead me home
to the place i’ve yet to see

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