256. My storytellers in Morocco

tell me

for I want to hear it all

though I doubt

there are words enough

to tell it all

 

what did you feel

 

when you

saw mile-long wavy blankets

of sand

with yard-long shadows

of self

 

when you

sat atop the ships of the desert

with their long nonchalant strides

and droopy eyelids

 

when you

stood on a dune

with a gust of a desert wind

locked in your hair

 

when you

gazed at an intricate carpet

(which must have taken years in the making) -

a mute audience to the gossip of its makers

while they wove magic with their dexterous fingers

 

when you

spotted a lone tree, a stubborn shrub

holding fort

valiantly and persistently

against the tenacious desert storms

 

when you

chased the sun

blazing down, one hour;

and racing to seek the desert blanket,

the other -

inspired by your footprints

scattered

across the dunes

 

when you

came across

kind strangers in colorful robes

strange kindred souls taken in

by snakes and monkeys

pretty women with bashful looks

restless men with wistful demeanor

 

tell me

for I want to hear it all

 

of the places where you stood and smiled

and the moments of beauty that made you sob

 

of the times you felt like conquerors of eternity

and the times when you surrendered,

conquered by the magnificence

 

tell me

when you find time.

but do tell me,

my storytellers in Morocco

---

 

An ode to the lovely couple who are chasing the sun