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

6 thoughts on “A Caravan Rests

  1. I wonder why you say that.

    Your rhymes seem so much more cohesive lady. Brilliantly written with depth…yet so simple.

    PS: I’ll let you write the foreword to my book :-p


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