Rippled like the red dunes
of Oman, patterned by thirsty wind
that meanders serpentine
like a cobra,
like ribbons of air,
her hair is the color of the horse;
her mount’s nostrils are flaring,
like beduoin tent flaps,
its breath is quick,
like the wind
but wet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem