Prophet

I followed desert suns Alone, these thirty years, A goatskin knotted round my sex, My fodder what I found, My shelter under rocks, My visions in my eye That mapped the slow wind flowing Across the sunwashed dunes, or the Scuffed dwarf spoor of the ant. Once these kept me happy.

Tufted with tamarisk The tawny dunes end Suddenly in shadow. The ridged rocks rise. The known desolate land Kisses my bare feet. Infested by winged things The rough hair of the sky Teems in the sun`s eye. Kindling the dunes, the enraged Wind beats up sand. The awkward ant Gnaws in a dry pasture.

I have aged.

- Dom Moraes (1938 - 2004)