Oman
Cocks crowing at midnight
kept me wide awake
sleep eluded me
thoughts crowded my mind
the tall dry mountains
you think you'd wintry lips
you keep biting them
the desert seems so close to you
the date gardens leave you desolate
The rugged people in white robes
with hoarse throats and wailing voices
seemed a mournful race
God's vengeance at its best
as you know them more
much as they let you to
you touch the higher ground
a people of primitive goodness
The endless chains of mountains
the infinite expanse of sand
dotted with thorn bushes
a furnace fed by the sun
and the austerity of Islam
have all molded their existence
they trust in a salvation
that God would some day work out
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.