THE NOMAD

As the desert sun declined to eye level and the hot wind
     began to cool on my moist skin, I wandered
     from the European hotel into a sea

                                          Of saharan sand.
I wandered aimlessly, enveloped by the quiet,
     until tracks in the sand began to lead me, pull me,
     toward something I knew not, but wanted to know.
     As I reached the crest of a wave of sand,
     I saw the Chari River in the distance,
     a shimmering ribbon of life cutting across

                                          An eternity
of rock. By the river where the tracks stopped
     was the shadow of a man outlined against the setting light,
     robed in nomadic white. For a moment he was like me,
     part of the desert sculpture; then white robes dropped
     and he stepped naked into the ribbon of life.
     I drew closer, step by step, planting my now bare feet
     into the cool nomadic tracks until he looked up

and our eyes met. They were friendly eyes, but seemed to say
     "No further. This is my time. Let me be alone and at peace."
     Going no further, I sat down and we were alone,
     together, and at peace.

                                          He, like me, had left tracks
across the land , had thirsted for the same water, had loved
     and had love returned. But at certain times,

                                          At times
like this, the ribbon of life stands still, and it is good
to be alone.

by Thomas K. Morrison

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