SHIFTING SAND DUNES OF THE HEART

I met her in a foreign land,

A land of sand and goat's milk cream,

She was just what my heart desired,

Alas, it all happened in a dream.

The place spoke of historical beauty,

The palaces were a symbol of love,

The forts reminded of strength unmatched,

The temples warned of God above.

Here the seeds of passion were sown,

The petals blown into the air,

The incense at the altar lit,

By the breath of a maiden fair.

She spoke like the wind,

The wind that strikes you on the face,

Yet at times she was like the breeze,

The breeze that blows with womanly grace.

She spoke in small whispers,

The air wanting to go unknown,

She often spoke in mumblings,

Small gusts of feelings accidently blown.

We walked together for a while,

As friends we two were closely bound,

She stood by me against all odds,

A priceless treasure had I found.

(All pictures taken by the author, 

unfortunately not in the land he dreamt of.)