Wandering Souls

Nomads have always intrigued me. As we studied about the tribes that wandered across the pages of our history books, they came alive in my imagination. I’ve spent hours picturing the lifestyle they had.

Trudging through the hot desert sand and swaying bodily on the humped backs of camels, the first settlers probably shaded their eyes from the swirls of dust whipped up by the merciless desert winds. Perhaps they prayed for safe passage through the dune mazes, or perhaps they knew those shifting labyrinths like the backs of their hands.

They might have set up their camel- skin tent in a sheltered area, most likely near an oasis or under the shade of a palm groove. They might have gathered together as the sun sank behind a sandy sea, letting a cool evening breeze carry away their sorrows, swapping stories while washing down ripe dates with salty milk. They would find contentment in their simple lifestyle, something most of us are yet to achieve.

Gliding over angry sands and dew kissed grass,
Gathering whispered stories from the briny breeze,

Finding tranquility where the mountains meet the sea,
Bonded by centuries of unfathomable unity,

Cherishing the fleeting beauty in transience,
Forever seeking constancy in an ephemeral existence.

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