New tales of the Gobi Desert
Heep Yunn School, Lam Ka Yi, Poetry: Group 4
Down in the golden gobbling Gobi Desert
grows an old sacred saxaul tree.
Beneath its bleached bark carved by ages,
lives a secret genie dances in glee.
Lightly faps her wings, she wonders
how the new tales of this desert would be.
She rolls her eyes with a brooding frown
Slowly the memories emerge with a sound —
‘whir-whir’ the gust howls in a huff
Hoot of rage make the animals tough
But the cloud of dust made a threatening thrust
Only the blue eyes got into a fuss.
This was thousands years ago,
when the Europeans hurried to and fro
From the Lake Bosten to the far Lop Nur,
that mix the white with yellow in this tour.
Though the gale gulps all the glittering porcelain,
the passion of the travelers still remain.
Forging ahead to the lands of China,
Air of mystery richly scented the road,
The rocking humps humped the goods to be sold
Leaving the rag of silks that time will corrode.
The clip and clank went around the clock
Dusty thirsty throats eroded.
Soon the dreamy history faded away in color,
comes the new tales of the desert straight away.
Vulcanized desert boots and windbreaker,
With sunglasses, camoufage vests and bird caller
No fear of the moody day and night dictator,
there every traveler becomes a fghter.
Yet the’ fghters’ jumble the journey up
as they take and chop and hew
without any sense or notice of
the disastrous devastation strewed
Their devilish smiles revealed by accident
