Journey

I do not undertake this journey happily. It is a pilgrimage of sorts. There is no Mosque or God in sight. I am however the quintessential faithless traveller. There is little by way of redemption for a soul that is as yet filled with regret, rancor and rage. I will not forgive. Yet I am willing to forget. I am also willing to allow the place and the people to heal me. I fill myself with their laughter and familiar voices. I imagine this to have a better ending. I rely on their earnestness. I imagine he wants me here. The ground is coarse, leaves are still and the air is heavy. It is a bloody sauna, I curse. It is the desert, he informs. Like, I didn't know that. With deserters, I add. It's my private joke. But they all laugh. They are not earnest, but then neither am I. My mind like a camel swaggers in and out of a dusty haze. I see him, ahead, like a mirage. This time, he beckons to me. This time, I run into his waiting arms. This time, he doesn't let go.

New journeys

on dry, arid landscapes

with old luggage.