Emergency Caravan

Emergency Caravan

The throb of the engine, the only sound heard,

our caravan through the darkness,

hundreds of miles of Arabian desert sands,

some passengers feel the peace, others

the searching silence, imposition of desert,

piles of dust and dirt, 

which is all that we are,

and all we ever will be.

The caravan cruises into daylight,

pale blue and brown work their way

into tired eyes weary of darkness,

perched above masks carefully put in place.

This combining of coronavirus and desert

somehow doesn’t fit

but what is ever fit about 

suffering, past or present?

The gas station stopped at has closed 

its hammam due to Covid-19,

passengers forced to piss in the trees,

somehow seems fitting, returning to nature,

pissing on a date tree in desert surrounds,

piles of dust and dirt, 

which is all that we are,

and all we ever will be.

Back on the coach, I check the net,

flicking eyes over dunes sporadically,

numbers of cases and dead stacking up,

as we turn into Riyadh Airport,

intakes of breath as we hope not to get it.

Somehow doesn’t fit

but what is ever fit about 

suffering, past or present?