Poetry

Well-shaped Sand (draft)

Purple mist wisps down

shaded dunes, creeping hands

mottling the yellow grains,

tumbling into bustling cities

ready to snatch at the wealth

of a merchant’s wares:

sugared dates, pistachios,

beads and scarves and

a thousand other riches

to flavour sips of life.

Lit by the lamp’s flicker,

illusions are stamped

over a tide of eyes,

but never reach the corners

filled  with emptiness

bottled tightly into fancy glass.

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