Have you ever traveled into
the desert sands,
camp out under her stars
and learn the rules of survival of the sands?
Have you experienced the scorching sun of day,
and the bone chilling winds at night
as you journey across her dunes on foot?
If you are one of desert’s children
then surely you’ve heard her speak,
and know she is a harsh mistress much like the sea.
I, myself can tell you
what the voice of the sands
have spoken to me:
‘What are the roots that clutch,
What branches grow out of this stony rubbish?
Son of man, you cannot say or guess,
for you know only a heap of broken images
where the sun beats and the dead trees give no shelter,
the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water
Only there is shadow under this red rock
Come in under the shadow of this red rock,
and I will show you something different
from either your shadow at morning –
shining behind you
or your shadow at evening
rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust…’
The things she had said
I shall never forget:
not one day of any year
for as long as I remain,
will I ever go without those words echoing in my ears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem