A Caravan Rests

Gold turns to black,
time starts to roll.
A roller-coaster ride,
on a sky of twinkling moles.

The Desert dresses up
for the time of her life;
under a crystal-laden ceiling
like a newly-wed bride.

The wind breaks up into pieces
like dew on a pink primrose,
and shines with unabashedness
just before her eyes close.

A colourful caravan rests,
near an oasis, satisfied.
The day is done with its conquests,
another destination to bid good-bye.

Black turns into silver,
and blue reflects in her eyes.
The caravan picks itself,
in search of newer tides.

– Sameen