'Sing for me O song eternal, I waited in vales and in deserts burning, you are the fire love's yearning. Your lotus eyes bloom and the time withers. Blowing wind I settle in you, blow me to the shore unknown. I walk but not, yet your distances I close. I look in your rose fragrant eyes and my soul in your music grows. Hold my hand outside of ageing time; kiss me so that our souls coalesce. I waited for you before the beginning of time, till your fragrance I find it shall incubate an unborn child.'
That is how I loved him. Love that is in the order reserved for gods. Gods who are gods because we keep them on a pedestal. He was my ship in which I sailed. The cargo of my virginal love I packed as to different ports we departed.
The hot dusty gusty summer wind blows. The clouds of brown powdery dust loosened from the earth rise and whirl carrying the yearning for a little liquidity. It is so much like my own inner landscape, dry and water-starved. The sky was veiled by the revved up hot piercing sand that accelerated in all directions. The hot particles hit like arrows of fire. Though my body was covered in the long cloak that I wore, my eyes and portion of the face that was exposed cried in the hot blast of the wind. The stray sturdy thorny kikar the cynosure of the desert fought the parching clime, though bereft of its tiny leaves. On the hot burning sandy surface it drew a drawing in shade on the ground with its leafless thin branches and trunk. It fought on, starved of food and water. It had only the dust and the sun for company. The song of the whizzing dusty wind it heard and nodded its dry branches in appreciation. The songs of fiery pain are no mean music for the soul.
It was an orange yellow-red landscape. While the winds gathered their breath to blow again with redoubled energy, I could see electric threads of heat rising in the distance