The Lost Realist

The sand hits my face,
With a million little whits,
A million little memories,
A million little whips.

Life seems trapped,
In shifting dunes,
The immortal enshrined,
In mortal tombs.

I whisper to my camel,
And he ambles on,
Leaving our footsteps,
On the sands forlorn.

I think about the marks,
Am caught-up in the past,
But my camel seems blase,
He knows they won’t last:

The breeze of time
Will Kiss the scars,
Inhuming them eternally,
Beneath the listless stars.

The desert accepts all,
Wild, Careless and Free,
Never choosing, never wanting,
Knowing how to just be.

My camel sees much more,
With his sunken eyes,
I may be clever,
But he is really wise.

Epilogue: The desert is life and sand is what it consists of: memories, experiences… The wind is time. Our lives are trails left on the sand: ephemeral, for time (wind) will eventually sweep it away. We should learn from life (desert): Just be, and accept everything on the face, as it is, and move on without getting attached to the past.