The Floating Sands
Discovery College, Nicole Woo, Poetry: Group 3
Cold wind, tired feet and trembling hands
I slowly rise from the soft, pale sands
Awaiting for the spooky legend, a ghostly one
Of Khara Khoto, now the tale has begun
With nothing in sight, just pot and bone
Listen closely as you might hear a moan
The tiny pieces of a historical event
You might just feel the erode descent
No one dared to go near them
No one dared to condemn
A long time ago, not so far away
Black City was violent, eager to slay
But soon enough, they couldn’t contain their thirst
Khara Bator killed his family and himself first
The Ming came rushing, and slaughtered the rest
What they did, it was for the best
But did you ever curiously wonder
Or maybe just suddenly ponder
If there were still ghostly remains
The feelings of Khara Bator, going through pain
Why don’t you experience this, come and see
If this legend is true, maybe you’ll agree
The legend of Khara Khoto, the floating sands
Just like I did, rising with trembling hands.
