A Nomad and Me
Renaissance College, Natalie Wong, Poetry: Group 4
Love is not what I feel. Is this infatuation?
I remember the pools of miniature granulation,
Slipping through the spaces between my fngers. I can still see his face.
My sweat drips onto his surface. Glistening like lacquered brass.
Is this truly sand I see? I am mistaken.
There is no illusion. Sand and silk mix.
The two entwine to create a path.
Over a precarious dune, I see him.
My vision blurred and ambition heightened.
Time sinks, shifts. The winds shape it once more.
A clink, a clank and a fnal shatter. A fgure approaches.
Twisting his brow, voice bellowing;
“Nobody can fll those years I ensnared!”
And at once, vanished.
Wondering as I wandered,
My footsteps traced circles.
A parched ocean lies beneath me.
The feet of ancient creatures rumble. They thrive.
Bathing in sunlight. I am fooled.
The mighty sun binds sand in the same hues.
Blushing in this red, it feels feverishly hot.
Eventually the raindrops.
Life!
Life, springs forth from the parching heat.
Realising my untravelled emotions have grown,
Sand and desert embrace in my arms.
I reach out my hands, clear liquid passing my lips.
The heat slows, the last sip,
So harmoniously sweet.
Love is not what I feel.
This is not infatuation.
I believe this is called,
Admiration.
